


Conglomeration of Things

by TwinKats



Category: Danny Phantom, Final Fantasy VII, Harry Potter - Fandom, Merlin (TV), Static Shock, Thor (Movies), Torchwood, Warehouse 13, X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom, Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: bunch of random oneshots, just a conglomeration of things, unfinished works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:59:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinKats/pseuds/TwinKats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of unfinished, up in the air, ideas, partial stories, partial chapters. Everything under the sun, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clockwork couldn't help his eye twitching. Really, anyone would be annoyed at just what was going on.

"Writer and Clocky sitting in a tree, K I S S I N G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes ba--"

"GRAH!" tossing his staff to the side Clockwork stalked over to his current nuiscance, tail vanishing for his recently more often preferred legs since the last debacle as human. "Daniel if you refuse to shut up about Writer and myself I will be forced to take action!"

"How?" Daniel questioned hanging upside down from one of the random clocks. His hair fell around his face as he stroked his goatee. "There's not much you can do, and really Clocky you can't get away from me! You and I both know it~"

Clockwork's eye twitched before he took a deep breath and a smirk found its way onto his lips. He remembered once, in his original foray into the Human World as Merlin, what his then-father Balinor had told him.

'You are the last Dragonlord now. You alone carry the ancient gift. Deep within yourself you must find the voice that you and Kilgharrah share, for your soul and his are brothers. When you speak to him as kin, he must obey your will.'

Clockwork's smirked widened as he tugged his staff from where it had fallen back into his hand and turned towards his rather annoying, upside down hanging twin who hadn't really stopped talking.

"For a guy who is really so prudish and childish you sure do get it up with Writer oft--hey Clocky what are you doing?!" Daniel shrieked as he found himself suddenly wrenched from his position to flaoting in front of a sadistically grinning Clockwork.

"You wish to annoy me then you'll face the consequences," Clockwork uttered. "Have fun as an imprisoned Dragon, Daniel!"

With a wave of his Time Staff he shoved Daniel into a portal of his own making. Another wave pulled up a screen that showed a newborn baby Kilgharrah.

Clockwork smirked.

* * *

"Kilgharrah why are you glaring at me?" Balinor found himself asking, sweat nervously beading down his neck.

"You give birth to my hated spawn of a twin," the Dragon muttered, "who has forced me to live out this life. Why else would I be glaring at you? I'll make his life hell, I swear it."

Balinor stared and wondered if maybe he shouldn't have tried to befriend this Dragon. He was obviously insane.

Kilgharrah just snickered, a dark grin entering his face.

"Oh yes, I'll make his life hell...."


	2. A Very Different Final Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud's heritage is the best, and worst, kept secret of Nibelheim. That simple act of knowing changes everything.

Mako, the Lifestream in its viscous liquid form, had been a documented phenomenon for years. The use of mako as an energy source was the pinnacle and pride of the Shinra family. It's ability to enhance a normal human the second major advancement to come out of Shinra's halls. However as much as there was known about Mako—about the Lifestream and the Planet itself—there was still more unknown.

Bunganhagen of Cosmo Canyon theorized that lifestream was in fact the souls of the deceased, flowing in streams beneath the Planet's crust. The Cetra called the Lifestream the 'Promised Land' that all living things will eventually reach at the pinnacle of life—that cresting moment were death claims all. Yet these theories did nothing to fully explain the effect of mako exposure. SOLDIER were strengthened by regular mako injections, and monsters grew more powerful and dangerous with exposure to the substance.

Humans who have been subjected to mako poisoning, a deadly set of overexposure, and _survived_ were reported changed. Stronger, like a SOLDIER, youthful in appearance. In fact warriors of legend could simply be survivors of what was now called mako poisoning. It was a well documented fact that mako springs had been a natural occurrence even before Shinra's reactors. A traveler could easily trip and fall submerged into the flow, dead within minutes, or dead within days, or in a rare chance survive, forever changed.

Mako, however, was more than just the souls of the deceased—it was more than their memories combined into a mass of incoherent, ever flowing, consciousness. Mako held no constraint to time, and as such the memories of a soul twenty-thousand years in the future could be floating about in the streams beneath the crust twenty-thousand years in the past. Mako was timeless, as was the Planet's eternal memory.

It was thanks to this timelessness of mako—of the souls and the memories—that caused the emergence of rare, unique individuals. These individuals were typically considered mako sensitive, which meant that they would grow abnormally sick when introduced to mako in their system, and yet mako sensitive individuals were those with the highest survival rate against mako poisoning. Their bodies absorbed and adjusted mako in a rate that was practically _insane_.

Not that Shinra realized this.

In one lifetime, such a rare and unique individual was Cloud Strife, the son of Sky Strife and a lonely foreman from the local Mt. Nibel reactor. In that life the truth about Cloud Strife's heritage—Nibelheim's best and worst kept secret—was never revealed. He went on to join Shinra, and ended up an experiment for five years. Cloud became the Planet's _Champion_ against his will, her unChosen Hero—the boy she hadn't desired to test and try, but who had taken her challenges without her realization and utterly demolished them.

In that life, despite his hardships and how he had been forced into a warrior he was not meant to be, Cloud lived a relatively peaceful existence in the end. Yet the Planet suffered, and eventually life was forced to rebuild over hundreds of thousands of years. In that lifetime darkness had been a festering wound, easily closed.

Yet in another life—another world—Cloud didn't have that easy time in Nibelheim. He learned at a young age the truth about his heiritage, and did not go on to be a SOLDIER. In fact in another life the simple act of _knowing_ the truth birthed a vastly different Cloud Strife, and everything and everyone in turn around him changed.

Some say the cataclysm for everything was the Planet's Chosen Hero, Genesis Rhapsodos. They say that his choices, his bitterness and anger, was what fueled everything—that if the degradation of his body and mind had been counteracted earlier then all that had happened wouldn't have happened.

They are wrong.


	3. Bullet for my Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucrecia has many regrets in her life, none more so than Vincent Valentine, Hojo, and the monsters she made out of them both.

Lucrecia Crescent was a woman filled with nothing but regret. Her entire life was one failure after another; one lashing of guilt after another, and another, and another….

At the age of twenty she had been so excited to be accepted onto Doctor Valentine’s Chaos and Omega project. Lucrecia had to leave behind her new home in Junon and return to Nibelhiem, the town of her birth, but it was worth it in the end. She’d never dreamed the things that she would learn working under Doctor Valentine.

Then tragedy struck. Not even four years after they’d started the project and unearthed the eventual birthplace of Chaos was the entire program struck down. They’d accidentally awakened the unholy being and in the subsequent damages and deaths that followed that accident Shinra washed their hands of the Chaos Project. Lucrecia found herself shunted from one scientist to the next until she was twenty-five and Hojo took an interest in her.

At first she hadn’t minded, Hojo was a rather sweet young man; socially awkward, and a bit cold, but undeniably sweet. He’d bring her flowers and chocolates and wines and they’d discuss scientific theories with each other. Not once had the twenty-five year old scientist belittled her theories on Omega and Chaos like many of the others had. Grimiore had been the only other scientist before Hojo to treat her thesis as a possibility!

When she was twenty-six President Raul Shinra began construction on Midgar. Word reached all the way to the Nibelhiem Labs, located in Raul’s original mansion and there was even a tiny little celebration. Little by little over the next two years Hojo began to grow obsessed with the entity Professor Gast had unearthed a little over six years previous. When Lucrecia was twenty-seven Raul Shinra okayed research into what would quickly become known as the JENOVA Project.

The entity was visited almost frequently by both Lucrecia and Hojo from then on. Lucrecia never quite liked traveling to the Reactor on Mount Nibel and often voiced her concerns over the dangerous trek. She wasn’t sure what it was that unnerved her so—be it possible attacks on monsters or the entity itself—but Hojo and the company took her concerns into consideration and they sent out a young promising man from the Department of Administrative Research, better known internally as the Turks.

_“Vincent Valentine, reporting for duty ma’am. I’ve been assigned to your protection.”_

It was the first time she’d ever laid eyes on Grimiore’s infamous Vincent and it was like a blow to her gut. All of Lucrecia’s will power had been forced to help her stand tall through the shock. She had never thought—had never even fantasized—that infamous Vincent actually worked for Shinra. Yet here he stood before her, completely professional and completely unaware that she was just as good as his father’s murderer.

She hadn’t pulled the trigger to kill Grimiore so to speak—and everyone told her it wasn’t her fault—but she was disinclined to agree. The psychologist that Hojo had forced her to see once, back when she first met him, had called it survivor’s guilt. Lucrecia called it her failure.

She had given infamous Vincent a wide and fake smile and an overly cheerful greeting with her name; ignored how her heart thumped painfully and loudly against her rib cage, or how her eyes burned. Lucrecia squeezed her eyes shut to hide the tears that wanted to fall. Infamous Vincent hadn’t outright blamed her or made any indication that he hated her for being the cause behind his father’s death. It was almost as if he didn’t know, but Lucrecia _knew_ that infamous Vincent knew the truth the minute she’d introduced herself. He was a part of the Turks, after all, so how could he not know?

What she hadn’t realized then but that first chance meeting began the careful unraveling of Lucrecia’s many, many barriers. It had started small, with the unburied crush that Doctor Valentine had nurtured in her for his infamous Vincent. Vincent’s gentleness, his kindness and thoughtfulness furthered that crush until soon she found herself in Nibelhiem on a date, or in the gardens beneath a tree, or even in Vincent’s bed….

Then she became pregnant and all her fears came crashing back. Lucrecia learned that Vincent _hadn’t_ known what had happened to Grimiore. He hadn’t known that she worked under the man—that she’d _killed_ him. It tore her up, twisted and shredded her insides in a furious way. All she could see and think was that _oh god, he can see the real me now, he knows—he hates me! He has to!_

Lucrecia ran. She never told Vincent about the pregnancy and she folded into Hojo’s arms. Hojo cared for her, he treated  her kindly like he had all those years ago, and despite how wrong he felt now—how much her gut _screamed_ at her to run Lucrecia accepted him with open arms.

Things progressed quickly after that—or her perception of reality took a drastic shift until she could only remember what happened in snippets. There were key moments where her life began to crumble, quicker and quicker until she felt like she had no control over anything anymore.

Lucrecia married Hojo.

Hojo shot Vincent.

She wanted to die. She tried to die, but Hojo and JENOVA refused to let her. The mako and the cells of the entity healed the wounds on her wrists long before they could even kill her. She broke down, lost her will to survive. Hojo easily snapped her out of the funk by presenting Vincent’s decaying not-quite-a-corpse to her. A failed experiment, he said. Perhaps she could find use for it?

Vincent, reduced to an it; the anger burned like a fire in her veins, but there was a spark of hope. Perhaps with mako and Chaos she could revive him, save him, and perhaps she could recover something she utterly destroyed. Lucrecia worked tirelessly. She gave birth amidst her research and data collecting to find a feasible way to save Vincent, although she could hardly remember the entire ordeal. Lucrecia remembered Hojo refused to let her even so much as hold her son. She had given up the rights to the babe, he told her, and kept his gaze steadily away from her face and her tears even as she pounded and demanded things from him.

Slowly the young doctor began to wonder where sweet, awkward, Hojo had gone and when he’d been replaced by this monstrosity. She couldn’t fathom how, where, or even when he turned into this possessive monster. Perhaps she ruined more than just two people with her stay here, Lucrecia figured, and then buried herself in her attempts to save Vincent. She needed to succeed, to make things _right_ , and then the day of the miracle happened. She worked through the procedure, applied the mako to reanimate the decaying tissue. She watched as the clock reversed before her very eyes—it was a success.

Vincent _survived_.


	4. Metal and Mentality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik Lensherr was many things; a killer, a holocaust victim, and a mutant. More than that he was a man of his word, a man who prided family, and he was not alone.

Erik Lensherr was many things; a killer, a holocaust victim, and a mutant, but he had never quite been a lover, or a crier, or a man who expressed his emotions beyond rage and anger and pain. Infinitely was Erik familiar with all the darker sides of humanity. Then he met Charles.

 _Sweet_ , _innocent_ , and _naïve_ Charles who saved his life and then turned it upside down; a _telepath_ of amazing power, a mind that matched Erik’s own…long hidden emotions, desires, wants and pleads had begun to fill Erik after that first meeting in the water.

That first touch of Charles’ mind to his…the cries for him to calm, that he _wasn’t_ alone. Against his own wishes, his own desires, Erik had felt his mind calm under Charles calm, collected demeanor. He _let go_ and followed Charles to the surface, to the others. It was like breathing after having suffocated his whole life, Erik thought.

Everything changed.

With Charles Erik uncovered parts of himself he had bound up, wrapped tight and near forgotten about. With Charles Erik never felt alone, because somehow and somewhere Charles was always just in the back of his head. With Charles Erik began to feel a semblance of peace, of serenity, and it was with Charles that Erik truly began to learn love again.

As a child and near adolescent in the Nazi camps Erik had to hide himself away; he may have been valued for his gifts thanks to Schmidt, but that didn’t mean he would be kept alive if he displayed anything else. His family was captured due to their appearance and believed religion, and Erik was spared some of their fate thanks to his gifts, his _curses_. As an adolescent, near adult, Erik had to learn how to live in society again; he had to learn how to live a life of not-killing, of hiding his gifts, but of retaining his sense of freedom as well.

Once Erik was old enough to be on his own, a fully educated adult male, Erik sealed away everything else and returned to the killer within. He became the monster of Frankenstein, only this time with the sole purpose of killing his creator. He hunted, and searched, and looked for the man. He found him, and met Charles…

…and everything changed.

Until it stopped changing and returned to life as normal, for Erik; he was the killer, the outsider, the one with a grittier grip of reality. Charles was naïve to the workings of the world, for all he touched the minds of so many, he denied the darkness festering within humanity. Erik knew how humans reacted; history showed quite clearly what would happen once mutants were revealed, like everything else.

Erik knew that there would come a time when he and Charles would part. It was inevitable, and completely on par with Erik’s life so far. He knew that there would come a time where he would be unable to conform to Charles’ belief’s, where he would have to break away. It was, in the end, for the best. If Erik remained with Charles, if Erik remained in contact with the other, mentally or not, Charles would eventually no longer be Charles. He would lose the naivety, that innocence that drew Erik in, that captured Erik’s heart.

Erik could not see Charles become like him, and he knew when the time came he would leave. Therefore, as he killed Shaw, he knew it was time. The humans would learn of their existence, they would attempt to kill him and the others. They would hunt down and torture, experiment upon the mutant race. The only way to save his brethren was to find them and hide them, and to fight back. To stop the enemy when the time was right. When they were _ready_.

And yet, as the moment drew ever closer, and as Charles fought against him, tried to convince him otherwise, Erik found it so very hard to leave. It wasn’t until he deflected the bullets and one pierced Charles’ back, slid into his spine, that Erik found his will to go. He found the steel and the urge to _flee_ before he could hurt Charles even more.

With Raven, Azazel, Riptide, Angel, and him clasping hands, in a line, they vanished off, away, and when they arrived _wherever_ they were Erik collapsed down, pulled the helmet off, and just _thought_. They needed a place to go, a place that would offer sanctuary and hope and a chance to just be. They needed a base of operations to start from.

Erik breathed out, heavy, and raised his gaze to Azazel. He asked, “Can you teleport us to a set of coordinates if I give them to you?”

Silently Azazel nodded his head, the group grasped hands again, and Erik rattled off a set of coordinates for Azazel to take them to. In a flash of sulfur they were gone from one place, and reappeared in the welcoming hall of another. Everyone but Erik tensed almost instantly, on alert and ready to fight as pounding footsteps roared down the halls and a tall man dressed in _robes_ entered the room.

“Erik!” the man greeted and Erik smiled wanly.

“Charlus,” he replied. “It is done.” Charlus gave a sharp smile in response, and Erik glanced back at his party.

“Your companions?” Charlus asked lightly. He looked unbothered by the strange appearances.

“Charlus this is Angel, Riptide, Azazel, and Mystique, fellow mutants,” Erik said, almost lightly. “Angel, Riptide, Azazel, Mystique, this is my cousin Charlus Potter, a wizard.”

Only Angel, Riptide and Raven gaped. Azazel just smirked and inclined his head lightly. He rumbled, “Wizard.”

Charlus’ lips twitched at the greeting. “Well met, _mutant_ ,” he replied in kind, nodding to the group. “How about some rest, then? And later I can drill you on what you’ve been up to, to make you return to my home so world weary.”

Erik smirked, lightly, “That would be perfect, Charlus. Absolutely perfect.”


	5. This Feeling I Can't Describe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wouldn't think it, but a party is right in Loki's element.

It started out a fairly typical, if extremely boring, day for Loki. He’d woken up in his Midgardian apartment, made himself a drink (coffee with vodka this time; he liked to keep things fresh) and then popped off to visit one of the few mortals he considered an actual friend: Wade Wilson. He was insane, given, and insanity was one of the worst enemies of Chaos, true, but Loki dipped himself in that realm often enough that he didn’t exactly care.

(there were these two amusing creatures there that seemed to consider stabbing, decapitating, and generally ‘killing’ one another as foreplay; Loki found this quite amusing, if a bit disturbing)

Sometimes insanity created the best mischief after all, and that was something Loki loved just a bit more than Chaos.

It was Wade who mentioned the party Stark seemed to be hosting, although ‘party’ was being generous. It was more a gathering of the heroes known as the Avengers and their allies for a simple get together. Considering that the Villains were off scheming their end of the week plots for global domination or destruction or whatever the heroes could relax and have fun with relative ease.

Wednesday: the perfect day to spy and dig up dirt to use against arrogant older siblings who should just _die_ sometimes, and leave their little brothers alone.

Loki had quite gleefully transported himself and Wade off to the party. Loki proceeded to slither around invisible, catching little pieces of blackmail with a wide, wide grin. Wade didn’t bother with sneaking. He just went over, grabbed a drink, and began hitting on pretty much anything that moved.

Loki found it mildly amusing how everyone pretty much ignored that Wade was there, in a party he was not invited nor should have been able to enter. Wade found it amusing too, actually. Wade wondered what sort of reception Loki would receive if he popped in unannounced. Loki muttered something about waiting for the opportune time.

He’s done this before.

 


	6. Who Are You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki Laufeyson, Loki Odinson, it didn't matter which he was these days. Not now that he found his cute little lover who tasted of Chaos, Death, and Frost.

“Who are _you_ ,” Severus asked disdainfully, his nose curled up just slightly.

Loki grinned and bowed with a flourish, “I am Loki,” he straightened, “a liar, a sneak, a trickster, a thief—hmm, wait, no…” a frown crossed the God’s lips and he held up his hands, as if to stay a thought. His head turned to the side and he hummed and hawed for a second before turning back, grinning again, “Scratch that, not really a thief. But I _am_ an agent of Chaos, of pranks and all things mischief! At your service…” he bowed again.

Severus felt ill.

* * *

“Oh shut up you giant bloody flaming chicken! Or I’ll introduce you to a _real_ Phoenix and see how _you_ fare!” Loki snapped.

“A…real…phoenix…?” Dumbledure muttered, confused.

“Giant flaming beasts that feed upon newborn children and generally like the taste of blood. They can be quite vicious. Oh…that reminds me, I miss Flamey….”

Dumbledore felt ill.

* * *

“Hmm…note to self, don’t touch the casket ever again,” Loki murmured. “It tends to make ones mind a bit scrambled. Okay greatly scrambled. Okay it turns them insane. Wait…didn’t the casket fall with me then? Does that mean it is here on Midgard or…no, oh, don’t tell me it fell back to Jotunheim! _Blast!_ Father is going to kill me….”

Hermione inched away from Loki slowly, eyes wide.

* * *

“Oh, no, I’m not…” Loki shook his head. “I mean I don’t mind the supple forms of women, I’ve taken that shape enough, but I do prefer the lines of men moreso…granted there _was_ this one lass, I think I would’ve deigned to marry her…or…wait, did I wed the girl? Goodness, I can’t quite remember. I was terribly drunk but…I think I did…hm, she must not have been as good as the Stallion, then. Pity.”

* * *

“I _like_ ale, why?” Loki demanded. “Did you think me some fancy wine-boy?”

“Um… _why_ do you like ale?” Harry asked with an arched eyebrow.

“I needed _something_ manly about my character!”

* * *

“I am a shapechanger, I can choose whichever form I wish to be,” Loki purred lightly, trailing his fingers along Harry’s chin. “Does this please you, little one?”

“Ah…”

Loki paused in his ministrations, cocking his head just slightly as a thought passed through his mind. “Wait…I can take any form I wish. I _am_ a shapechanger. Does this mean I can be truly Asgardian…? Hm, it bears thought…no, no, no, wait, it is just another form of trickery. _Damn_.”

“Well I think it’s a gift with promise. You know…mischief capabilities?” Harry muttered and Loki’s gaze instantly snapped back, a grin curling at his lips.

“Oh…I _knew_ there was a reason why I felt attracted to you.”

“So it _wasn’t_ because I, in your own words, tasted of chaos and death?”

“That might have had some influence.”

* * *

“Father…why would Loki claim to not be my brother?” Thor asked slowly, raising his gaze from his clenched fingers to stare up at Odin, questioningly.

“It is merely yet another of your brothers tricks,” Odin replied softly, glancing towards Thor. “Put it out of your mind, son.”

“No, Father,” Thor shook his head. “This…was not one of Loki’s tricks. You did not see him as he spoke. He looked…broken.”

“…broken?”

“Like his world had been shattered!” Thor snapped. “Like everything he had known had been torn from him, as if his life had been a lie, as if he were _dead!_ ”

Odin set down the paper he was going over, slowly, and asked, “He looked as you say?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Thor growled. “Why would—I know he is one for mischief and tricks and not always tells the truth but…Loki has never once looked at me like that, Father. Not once had I seen him so… _what happened to my brother?!_ ”

Odin swallowed heavily and closed his eyes. He breathed out deeply, gathered his thoughts, and murmured, “Ask him yourself, Thor, but do not ask me of what befell your brother. I cannot…Loki…he is special, you know this, Thor. But I will not…I will not…do not ask me of it. Ask him yourself, when you find him.”

“And yet I cannot find him, Father,” Thor muttered distastefully, “because I have no manner in which to leave Asgard to seek him out.”

“Then pray your brother finds it in his heart to return, and ask him then. Do not ask me. I will not tell of it.”

* * *

“Do you wish to see him?”

Thor whirled around, Mjolnir aimed threateningly in the direction of a voice. What he saw greatly confused him, and he relaxed his stance but a little as he eyed the blond haired, teal eyed figure.

“Who are you and how have you entered my chambers?” Thor demanded, his eyes narrowed.

“Do you wish to see him?” the figure repeated.

Throw frowned and asked, “Who?”

“Loki,” the figure uttered. “Do you wish to see him?”

“You know where my brother is!?” Thor growled, taking a step forward.

The figure smiled slightly, “I can take you to him.”

“…how?”

The figure grinned, “Through the secret spiderways.”

“The…what?”

“Will you see him? He misses you,” the figure continued, and held out a hand. Thor hesitated for just a second, but the thought of Loki…his _brother_ …hesitation fled Thor in an instant and he gripped the hand steadily.

“Take me to my brother.”

“Very well, Thor Odinson.”

They vanished.

* * *

Harry frowned lightly as Neville appeared with the giant brute known as Thor. After everything that had happened earlier he was not happy to see this God, especially not since Loki was going through a tribulation of emotions. Having seen what his actions had wrought form the other end…it had taken its toll on the mischievous man.

And so Harry was _not_ pleased to see Thor standing here, before him, and turned his displeasure to Neville.

“Seriously, Nev? You bring _him?_ ”

Neville snorted, “You know the little trickster needs some cheer, Har, and more support than just us. Who better to understand than the one he calls brother? Besides, you didn’t witness the near chewing out Odin got from his own _kin_.”

Harry frowned and murmured, “And yet, Nev, you know the memories are so fresh now. He just witnessed his own actions—hell I had to hold him back from doing something monumentally stupid and killing himself! I don’t think—”

“Harry…how many times have you wished for someone to step up when things get wrong?” Neville asked slowly. “When you have a nightmare, or are feeling alone, or are blaming yourself on things gone wrong?”

“What does that have to do with anything?!” Harry hissed.

Thor confusedly asked, “Who is the mini clone of my little brother?”

“I AM NOT A CLONE!” Harry shrieked.

Thor backed up slightly, eyes going wide. Gentle pitter patter of feat reached his ears, the pace not quite hurried but moving fast all the same. And then stepped Loki into the room, looking slightly more bedraggled than Thor had last seen him, but staring at concern towards the little clone.

“Little Chaos and Death? Why are you shrieking?” Loki murmured, wrapping his arms around the tinier him. Thor could pick up the differences now that both where in the room, and he was rather at a loss. Loki nuzzled his face into Harry’s neck. “Well, love?”

“Neville has brought you a…guest, Loki,” Harry muttered.

“Oh?” Loki glanced up and froze. “…why did I agree to allow you to teach him how to use the paths again?”

“Because he’s pretty much my brother and you love me?” Harry asked meekly.

“Right…” Loki muttered and then grimaced. “Hello, brother.”

“Loki…brother…I…” Thor’s words failed him.

* * *

When Thor returned to Asgard, thanks to Neville’s use of those ‘paths’ that Loki had found, the first thing the God of Thunder did was seek out his father. Once he found the man he proceeded to punch Odin smack across the jaw.

“ _That_ was for keeping the truth from me and my brother!” Thor thundered. “For raising us both with the belief that Frost Giants were only monsters, for driving my brother to believe what he is _not_ , for driving him to wish for _death!_ ”

Thor stormed away, leaving Odin in shock.


	7. Dear Writer, I'm Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brother writes a poem of apology.

_I’m sorry, poor brother, this phobia is mine_  
that I gave to another; guilt eats me inside.  
How can you forgive me, when I can’t as well?  
I just want us to no longer dwell  
on this past that still haunts us and holds confined  
to these chains of mistakes; all ours kept aligned.  
Yet I know every year when the time comes  
you’ll secret yourself away from my arms  
and into his embrace you will go  
leaving me here all on my own.  
Still here I will wait for each morning to arrive  
as that’s when I know once again you are mine.  
Oh dearest Writer I beg you this year won’t you stay?  
Please spend with me Christmas day.  
I know I’m not tolerant and jealous I seem  
but I truly do love you in all that it means.  
I‘ll do whatever it takes to prove this is true  
and all I ask, all I ask of you  
is for you to give me this one last chance  
to show you I’m sorry and to romance.  
So please don't deny me this year yet again,  
for I want nothing more than to make my amends….

_With love, Randy_   
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Seven gather together to reminisce on the past, and talk of the future. "We were gods, once."

"We were Gods once, what happened to THAT?" it is surprisingly Randal that utters the complaint during one of the rare and few between get-togethers with them all present. Clockwork shifts lazily, his ghostly tail twirling in a manner eerily reminiscent of a cat.

"We weren't Gods," Grand mumbles almost irritably and then lets out an almost obscene groan as the massage chair hits the spot that had been bugging him for months now.

"We believed we were, though," Ghostwriter points out, sipping on a mug of coffee. A little ways off Nocturne is snoozing, Box Ghost is playing with the boxes, and Desiree is lazily making shapes appear in the air. "Isn't that what matters?" the ghostly author finishes after a moment of silence.

"Even beings with godlike power can be convinced of something that is not true," Clockwork murmurs softly and lets out a slight keening sound as Death musses his hair as he walks by. The slighter, red haired creature's lips pull into a lopsided smile as Clockwork's for once ungloved fingers begin preening his purple locks back into shape.

"We weren't Gods," Death utters, straddling a chair. The times had changed him; he's gotten used to actually using CHAIRS instead of his varied yellow little floor pillows. He drinks coffee, and soda, and other beverages besides tea and sake. He hides less in the shadows but favors his old cloak and hood and ancient sandles styled outfit.

He's still absolutely terrified by sunlight, however, and flinches whenever Grand waves his Pure Sunlight Flashlight (TM) in his face, although he can settle in a shaded area without the supporting need of alcohol now. It's a more recent development.

"We may have thought we were," Death continued blithly, "and for a time we may have BEEN, to those First souls, but we were never true Gods. That was just a dream within a daydream, a thought and a whimsy someone had." There are sidelong glances at Clockwork whose lips twitch with nostalgia for a moment, his red gaze distant. "Which some still entertain?"

"No," Clockwork murmurs. "I am no God." The words are heavy and laced with something that the Time Master and the others aren't sure of, but the smile is still on his face.

"No," Death agrees, "you never were." And that's the end of that. The topics shift and change and for a moment Ghostwriter asks what Clockwork's latest fancy is, besides seeing Phantom become what he wishes and dreams, and Clockwork gains this somewhat secretive smile while Grand just snorts into his drink and pulls out a huge photoalbum from somewhere.

"It's been a while," the one-eyed green skinned ghost utters with a sharp-toothed smile. "I figured we could catch up on the families. Anyone have any recent children?"

"Hell NO," the twins utter shortly and Death mutters a, "Here, here. One birth was ENOUGH, thank you."

Nocturne makes a noise and there is a slightly darkly spoken, "I WISH. If only I could get Vortex to FOCUS enough..." and Desiree snorts derisvely; they all know her thoughts on children.

"I'd rather toast the little rascals."

It is Box Ghost who speaks of the Lunch Lady and their darling little Box Lunch, the newest of the children of the Ancient's to be born. That is if you aren't counting the girls Natasha and Natalie whom seem to be in a rather rebellious time-traveling stage. Grand admits he's not looking forward to THAT formation. It aims to be a handful as they've so far seen.

Death flips through the photoalbum and sees a mass of pictures of same-faced creatures--the Observants and their Council--and he can pick out the few differences in a few photos like how one is shorter, one is stouter, one is skinnier, this one's eye is larger etc, etc. He flips ahead a few pages, whistles, and then raises his head to his almost-twin.

"How many children do you HAVE?" he asks, almost awed.

"Two-thousand three-hundred and thirty-four," is the prompt response from Grand. Clockwork's tail twirls as adds in, "Three," succiently.

The whole group crowds then, demanding to know how CLOCKWORK has three and when did THIS happen? It is Grand who answers, almost truthfully.

"There's a reason why alcohol is banned in the clocktower," the words are dry and semi-amused. "That would be the source of Phantom. The Twins are the most recent--literally right after Plasmius and Phantom were re-released."

There is a moment of silence, of contemplation of how Grand and Clockwork have in total two-thousand three-hundred and thirty-seven children and then Ghostwriter and Randy say in tandum, "Nymphomania REALLY suits you," and Death utters, "Good god do you ever SLEEP?!" and Nocturne actually falls over laughing, abandoning an age old grudge for the moment. Box Ghost looks faintly ill or horrified and Desiree is completely stumped.

"Two grand-children," Clockwork rather helpfully points out as well. "Dan and the little baby."

"That's in the future," Grand admonishes, slightly, then adds, "and they're Death, Randal, and Ghostwriter's grandchildren too, y'know."

"Mm. We're lucky the boys all have matching power levels otherwise there'd be more..."

There is a wry grin as Grand replies, dryly, "Completely."

And as THAT revelation passes through the minds of the other six Clockwork lazily plays with temporal mechanics and Grand moves from the message chair to lounge against the glass of the Clock that sits in his Partner's chest.

It is Death who weakly asks, "Is your libido genetic?" while Nocturne is faint from laughter. Box Ghost vanishes to the restroom, his blue skin oddly ill-tinged. Desiree is begging SOMEONE to wish that she didn't hear that, PLEASE, whilst Ghostwriter began inching towards his typewriter, his imagination flaring. Randal dropped right to the floor in a dead faint.

It is, all reflect later, one of the better get togethers they've ever had.


	9. A Secret Worth Keeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Lancer knows a few things about a few people. He has a few secrets himself.

There are several things Mr. Lancer knew as fact. Danny Fenton was a horrible liar and paraded around as Danny Phantom, Danny Fenton was actually gay (surprisingly not even his friends knew) and in a long term relationship, Vlad Masters was bad, bad news, and Bruce Wayne was a dear old friend who ran around dressed in tights during the night.

Oh, and his younger brother was a moronic genius insofar that he had the brains, but lacked the realization of what his actions _said_. Honestly Lancer wondered how he even got laid, married, and had three kids with how much of an _idiot_ the brat could be. Granted with two of those three kids being complete, or almost complete, psychopaths…Lancer was quite happy he’d gotten his last name vanished from record.

It still didn’t make the current situation any more difficult to deal with. Or awkward.

“… _William Shakespeare_ Slade we’re lucky you didn’t completely destroy Joseph’s development as well…”

Maybe it’d be best to start at the beginning.

…

_Two Weeks Previous_

Mr. Lancer, as he was known by his students, was enjoying a rather relaxing spring break, bar the explosions from ghost attacks going on in the town. He knew quite well that the local _Phantom_ had it all in hand. After having personally known quite a few teen heroes Lancer had no doubt Phantom could take care of any ghostly troubling coming his way.

Including his ignorant parents.

So it was with knowing that the town was safe (bar property damage) that Lancer quite happily relaxed back into his sofa with a good book. Incidentally it wasn’t some great known piece of literature but actually Stephen King. IT to be precise.

No one but a select few knew about his secret affair with the Stephen King novels. Or that he had a love of horror in general. Or even that he played video games like the best of them—well, Danny Fenton and his friends knew _that_ tidbit but then they were the only exception there… _Doomed_ was much to addicting. He really had to stop.

Still, IT was a deliciously wonderful novel, Amity Park was safe (outside a car exploded as Technus rampaged and Phantom fought to round him up) _okay_ Amity Park was relatively safe aside from property damage, and there was no one to bother him on his break. His _paid_ break. Sometimes being the Vice Principle was a blessing in disguise.

Then he remembered all the bullies in the school and how utterly and completely helpless he was at stopping it and cursed his life.

Shaking off the remnants of darker thoughts Lancer turned the page to continue when the phone rang.

Now one must understand that there _is_ such a thing as ‘old man Murphey’ and his wonderfully _despicable_ law. As such considering that Mr. Lancer, as his students knew him, was settling in for a nice relaxing Spring Break ‘old man Murphey’ decided to come knocking.

After all…whatever can go wrong, will go wrong. Usually at the worst possible moment. Thankfully that wasn’t yet.

So…three of four terrible things, in Lancer’s point of view, happened in sequence. First was that his phone rang.

Annoyed Lancer heaved himself to his feet (yet again silently making an oath to head to the gym and get rid of this horrible pot-belly, and yet again he would completely forget about the oath not five minutes later) and picked up the phone.

“Lancer speaking… _Bruce?_ What can I do for you? … Oh he did, did he? … You want me to _what?_ _Great Gatsby_ , man I’m on my _break!_ … Bruce you didn’t— _Romeo and Juliet_ Bruce I was looking forward to— _Bruce don’t you dare hang up on me! BRUCE!_ ”

Lancer huffed and slammed the phone down, scowling at the device.

Next Technus barreled through his wall, Phantom followed right behind. Every single electronic appliance in the modest apartment lifted up as the fight ensued, wrecking Lancers little home. Thankfully the fight ended shortly after with Phantom entrapping Technus into his thermos, unfortunately his apartment was in ruins.

Finally the doorbell rang and then collapsed inward to reveal his two nephews and niece.

Mr. Lancer pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a migraine coming on. He was just thankful that is moronic genius of a brother hadn’t graced him with his presence as well.

 _That_ would make these two weeks hell.

…

Needless to say Mr. Lancer’s, as his students called him, vacation went to the dogs right after that. First things first though he had to figure out where to stay, what with his apartment in need of renovation and all. So bitterly he told Phantom to sit on the couch and hand over a phone.

Confused the seventeen year old followed his teachers directions (although a little hesitantly and completely forgetting he was a ghost for the time being) and with a bitter sigh Lancer called Bruce back.

“I’m sorry to bother you— _yes_ they arrived safely which reminds me _Joseph, Rose, Grant sit yourselves down on the couch. We’ll be talking in a minute._ Now— _what do you mean why am I calling?_ I’ll tell you I have a perfectly good reason to call! … _Yes_ it is a good reason! _Pride and Prejudice_ Bruce I _always_ have a good reason! … Oh don’t you dare bring up that— _BRUCE! Listen to me!_ … That’s better. Now my apartment has unfortunately faced some recent damages…”

Phantom winced and muttered a soft, “Oops…sorry…”

“It’s quite alright, Phantom … Yes, _Phantom_ , Bruce…anyway I’m in need of a new place of residence since you’ve had the _care_ to drop my niece and nephews in my lap— _oh don’t give me that!_ I know quite well you know what happened. _Yes_ you will be footing the bill for the renovations—well it’s not like they _realize_ he’s not doing the destruction on purpose! You know as well as I do that this city is wrapped around Masters little finger— _yes, Bruce_. Now are you going to give us appropriate accommodations or not?”

Faintly Lancer could hear Phantom _attempt_ to strike up a conversation, although after the glare Grant gave the teen he trailed off with a hesitant wince. Lancer frowned lightly, making note to deal with the boys attitude.

“…I _suppose_ a vacation is acceptable. You’ll be paying for everything? … Very well then, Jump City it is, although _why_ you are sending me there after what you had to say— _oh._ You know I had completely forgotten about that. … Of course I’ll be sure to mention it, Bruce, honestly. Can’t let your wayward ward whine to high heavens about missing his beau. … _Hah!_ With how tight those tights are it’s any wonder you haven’t been propositioned just yet! And _yes_ that is how I know. I’m not _blind_. … Mhmm…very well then. Goodbye Bruce.”

With a derisive snort Lancer clicked the cell phone shut and tossed it back to Phantom. He frowned in thought for a minute, wondering how to word this without having Grant lose his head before giving in. He’d be able to contain the aftermath of any one of his brothers children’s tantrums, after all. Except Joseph, the boy was always the good one of those three….

Or he could just leave out hero names entirely and state the ‘secret identity’ which really, to quite a few, wasn’t all that secret in the end. Sometimes he wondered how these ‘superheroes’ actually _kept_ public ignorance of their nightly or sometimes daily activities. They weren’t _that_ secretive after all.

“Bruce wanted to mention that there’s a ghost hunting convention going on in Jump City in two days,” Lancer stated briskly. “He’s offered to pay for room and board during the two weeks the convention lasts _if you promise to spend time with Richard_ , am I understood? Apparently he’s been whining about being all alone.”

Phantom’s head jolted up in surprise at the words.

“Mr. Lancer?” he squeaked.

Lancer rolled his eyes and stated, “ _Mists of Avalon_ , Phantom, I’ve known for _years_. You’re honestly a horrible liar.”

Phantom winced.

“Blow to my ego…” the near-adult muttered.

Lancer just chuckled.

“Now get. I have two trouble makers to deal with….”

“But Uncle Lancer!” his niece, Rose, started to whine as Phantom got up and hesitantly floated out the window. “We didn’t _do_ anything!”

“You terrorized the populace of no less than _three cities_ , attempted to assassinate _well known superheroes_ , and tried to emulate your _moronic father!_ I think you’ve done plenty wrong, Rose Wilson! You and your brother, Grant! Why if your Grandmother could see you—yes, Joseph? Why of course you can practice…you’re not at all in trouble.”

“But Uncle Lancer I—”

“I don’t care if you’ve had a change of heart Rose, you still committed _criminal actions!_ _Moby Dick_ , if I were your father—”

Yup, it was going to be a long two weeks.


	10. On A Bender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The funny thing about Jack Spicer, Evil Genius, is that he is just that, an evil genius. Except when impaired by Alcohol.

“Mpfhngg.”

Jack moaned lightly from his spread eagled position on his bed. Blearily he raised his head, wondering what the blaring alarm was all about. Bloodshot red eyes danced around the weakly, wincing at the stream of light pouring in from the window. He grunted and rolled over.

White skin flushed green as Jack groaned, his stomach curled in protest. His head pounded along with the blaring alarm. Muttering curses in Russian under his breath Jack opened his mouth to holler over the noise, throat scratchy and tongue feeling fuzzy.

“ _Security Protocol **shut that goddamned alarm off your motherfucking horseshit of a program!** ”_ the young man roared, wincing. He raised a hand to massage at his eyes, pulling himself into a sitting position.

A computer along the wall beeped out an affirmative “Yes Master Jack” and the alarm cut off.

Jack continued to massage his head, trying to force back the pain of a raging migraine-hangover combination. He grunted lightly before calling out hoarsely, “Mary get me that hangover tonic!”

Outside the room a mechanical, but distinctly feminine voice, replied, “Right away Master Jack.”

“And someone contact Bobby! I want to know what the hell I was doing for-for-for however long I’ve been on this bender. Gods it feels like _months…_ ”

Jack groaned and crashed back into the bed, his head giving a rather angry throb at the movement. A second later the door opened with a mechanic hiss and Jack raised a single gloved hand up for the tonic, his eyes closed and his other hand still massaging his forehead.

A smooth glass was placed into his grasp. The young man sat up, pinched his nose, and downed the glass. He gagged lightly.

“Fucking shit _stinks_ ,” he muttered, relaxing as his headache began to fade ever so slightly. “Where is Bobby?” the teen asked after a second, cracking open an eye to lazily gaze at the maid before him.

“I’m afraid Master Spicer that you had reprogrammed him whilst on yet another one of your…trips,” Mary the Maid replied calmly. There was a faint mechanic tinge to words.

Jack arched an eyebrow, silently asking ‘really?’ to his maid. Mary nodded her head slowly. The young man sighed.

“Call him and initiate Return Protocol Alpha, make sure he understands the need to boot off any reprogramming and to recover anything that was originally lost,” Jack stated, able to think slightly more clearly. “After that begin to gather the archived footage of my…lapse in judgment and prepare a hot meal. Have one of the other Maids get me statements of my bank accounts, and all other status’ of my affairs in order for my perusal. I’ll be heading down to the lab. Oh…and prepare a hot meal. I’m fucking _famished_. What the hell have I been eating?”

“Pudding cups and bananas, Master Jack.”

Jack stared, and stared, and almost retched.

“I’M ALLERGIC TO PUDDING!”

* * *

“Sorry Xiaolin Losers, this Wu is mine!” the visage of Jack Spicer snarled, clutching the Chameleon Scarf to his chest. Suddenly he went stiff, much to the Monks surprise, and began speaking in a monotone. “Return Protocol Alpha engaged. Modifying hardware. Processing. Processing.”

“Um…what is RoboJack doing?” Rai whispered.

The next second the robot clone of Jack seemed to come back to life, blink, and then swore in German. Quickly he yanked up his arm, dropping the Chameleon Scarf, and tapped out something on the metal-skin.

The monks watched as the robots arm opened up and a holographic like screen emerged with the familiar symbol of Jack Spicer. It twirled around for a minute alongside the sounds of a phone ringing. In a short flash of pixels and a click the monks saw a strange face appear instead of Jack’s symbol.

 _“Bobby? Where the **fuck** are you?”_ the face snapped. Its voice was tinged just slightly with that over-the-phone feel.

“I’m sorry Master Jack, I did not check before responding to the Return Protocol Alpha. Do you wish me to check my inner GPS?”

_“Fuck **yes** Bobby! I need you back here at the damn lab, you piece of scrap metal!”_

“Master Jack?”

_“Seriously…what the **fuck** was I thinking?! I have months worth of backlogged projects, backlogged **finances** …Bobby get your shiny metal ass back to my lab this fucking **instant** before I turn you into scrap!”_

“I’m in Antarctica, Master, and I’m afraid my dimensional shift program has been deleted and is unrecoverable.”

_“Seriously? Well…shit. Fine. I’ll send for a plane. Just…gods, don’t move too much then. Another thing to fix…what the fuck was I doing anyway…? And where are those security tapes?! **MARY!** ”_

“Shall I hang up then, Master Jack?”

_“Yeah, yeah. I’ll work on you in a bit. Plane’s on the way. See you in ten, Bobs.”_

“Of course Master Jack.”

The hologram cut out. With a metallic sigh Bobby sank down into the snow and stared up at the sky. As his sensors were heavily damaged, and so were his self-repair systems, Bobby did not even notice the Xiaolin Monks whom were staring at him in shock. Instead he went through the few systems that _weren’t_ damaged or ruined. Facial plates curled into a wince.

“Master Jack’s _not_ gonna be happy ‘bout that one…” he whined slightly, raising a hand to rub at his forehead. He frowned at the screeching noise the action caused, narrowing his optics slightly and shifting his hand more into his field of vision. “Paint…? No, metal flakes…oh _fuck!_ He changed the face plate!”

With a disdainful moan Bobby closed his eyes and muttered short curses in German.

Across the field the monks glanced warily at the robot and the scarf. They wondered, as a group, if this were just another ploy. Kimiko hesitantly stepped forward.

“Um…excuse me?”

Bobby lifted his torso and opened his optics, blinking slowly.

“Oh, other life forces?” he muttered. “I apologize. I did not realize there were living… _humans_ up so far north. I’m not encroaching on some sort of territory, am I? If so I swear I’ll be gone in a minute!”

Kimiko blinked and said, slowly, “You…don’t recognize me?”

Bobby mirrored the motion, followed by a tilt of his head. “Should I? I’m afraid the reboot of my system wiped any memory of the past few months from my hard drive.”

Kimiko stuttered, nervously, eyes wide.

Bobby narrowed his optics and accessed the zoom feature, just slightly, at the girl’s stuttering and blinked again. “Tohomiko Kimiko?” he asked after a second, facial plates going slack. “My, you’ve grown… _big!_ ”

“Um, _what?!_ ” Kimiko shrieked.

“Last I saw you, Kimi-chan, was uh…what, you were ten? What are you doing all the way out in the arctic? Oh don’t tell me I got reprogrammed as a kidnapper…Master will have a _field day_ if I ended up kidnapping you! Gods your father must be worried oh I’m so—”

“N-No!” Kimiko waved her hands quickly, ignoring the faint sniggering behind her. “Y-You didn’t—I-I just— _my scarf!_ ”

Bobby blinked again, “Your whatsit, now?”

The explanation came out in a slightly panicked rush. Apparently, according to the young monk, she had dropped her scarf from her plane and hired him to find it. When he didn’t hand it over she feared foul play. So she came over to find out what had happened, was the deal off? Bobby just blinked as his systems processed the information. His lips curled into a smile.

“Aww, no, deal’s not off Kimi-chan!” he stated cheerfully. “Go ahead and take your scarf, I’m not gonna stop you.” A low rumbling reached his sensors, followed by a static-call from a rather familiar person.

_“Bobby flare the damn signal your moronic asswipe!”_

“Ah, there’s my ride!” the robot stated. “Auf Wiedersehen, Kimi-chan.”

Kimiko stared as the ‘bot stood and back flipped into the sky; a jet roared over head, swinging low. The Dragon of Fire raised her hand up, flinching into the sun. She could see RoboJack— _Bobby_ curl and slip easily into the jet that dashed off almost instantly. Her hair ruffled, the Chameleon Scarf fluttering in her hands.

The others walked up to her and began asking questions. Kimiko just stared at the sky for a minute before turning her gaze down into the scarf in her hand. She clenched the fabric tight, confused, and wondering why she felt just a little sad all of a sudden.

It was like…she just saw a very good friend for the first time in years, only to lose them again.

* * *

Jack narrowed his eyes to slits and glanced at Bobby through the corner. He was surprised at the old facial appearance the mechanical creation of his had, and briefly noted the need to reupgrade the ‘bots systems. Still he was curious about a more immediate situation: namely the people he was able to see down in the arctic snow.

 _“What was that all about, Bobby?”_ he asked into his headset as they soared over the beautiful blue of the ocean.

“I am not quite sure,” the robotic creation of Jack uttered. “Tohomiko-san and some friends were in the arctic, looking for this scarf,” a slight holographic image popped up in Jack’s visor, complete with data statistics, “I don’t believe the story she spun about dropping it and hiring my services, I have no logged instance of such in my work-banks. Plus it was highly illogical.”

_“You scanned the scarf?”_

“Of course, and it only further brings to question what Tohomiko-san was doing in the arctic. This…is not an ordinary scarf, Master.”

_“We’ll discuss the scarf and what you were doing in the arctic **after** I’ve fixed you up, then, Bobby. And **after** we’ve gone over what the fuck I’ve been doing. I mean…I made that fucking **time machine!** ”_

“Truly? I thought you scrapped that project?”

_“I did.”_


	11. Dragons & Dragonlords: Ends & Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kilgharrah has more reason to hate Uther than simple imprisonment.

**E** ighteen years...he could hardly believe it had taken close to eighteen years for him to get this far. For him to stand here, above this menace this... _foolish_ Sorcerer. Dead at his feet, finally, after so much....

Golden flecked emerald eyes swept about the cheering crowd of relieved young Sorcerer's and Sorceress', young Witches and Warlocks. Finally the horrors of the past years had fallen down and theirs would be freedom. But he didn't feel free; no, there was more he was to do. He could feel it in his bones....

"Love?"

He turned, slowly, towards the radiant beauty that brought him such joy. The tension around him seemed to ease quite suddenly and he dropped the sword in hand, breathing out heavily a smile stretching across his face as he closed the gap and grabbed her close. Wrapped his arms tight and buried his face in her hair, taking in her scent his chosen _mate_.

"We're safe," he breathed out, clutching her tighter, not wanting to let go. "Finally..."

"All thanks to you," she replied, soft-toned and fiery all at once. Ginger hair and choclate eyes captivated him, even as she pulled back and entwined her fingeers with his, smiling that mischievious grin learnt from her own brothers. A pang of sadness swept him at the reminder but he pushed it aside; grieving wasn't for now.

"Celebrate with me?" he asked, his own mischievious smile lighting his face instead. It faded in the next second as her brown eyes changed from loving, to pure horror. "Love?" he quarried and she shook her head, tears beginning to fall.

"No..." she breathed, stepped back, but he didn't understand.

"Love what's--what's wrong?" he asked, swallowing heavily. What had happened in the seconds past?

"No, no please!" she screamed out and the whole room of happiness seemed to change. Everyone was staring in shock and he could only watch, confused and concerned as she collapsed back, crying, into his friends' grasp. "Please no! _Please!_ "

"What--what is wrong? Love?" he questioned. "Tell me what is wrong?" He took a step towards her but she turned away, sobbing. Her brother placed a hand on the shoulder of his girlfriend as she held the woman he loved tightly, soothingly, but staring at him with sorrowful eyes.

"Goodbye, mate," his friend uttered and his eyes widened. He felt something pulling at him, tugging him backward and he _roared_.

"No!" he tried to claw his way from the grasp, back to his beloved and the happy life, back to what he had fought so _hard_ for but he couldn't reach, couldn't escape. "No! GINNY!"

His eyes went gold, his world went dark, and the last he could hear was his beloved wife-to-be's sobbing.

* * *

"Are you alright, my friend?" Balinor found himself asking one evening, glancing towards the emerald eyed, pale-skinned companion. There was tense silence across the fire at the question, the teen--though he looked more like an elf child--stiff as he stared, hard, into the fire with silence.

Finally he uttered a rough, "No," and stood, turning away from the warmth and toward the night. The haunting trees and their broken melody and the crackling of the fire around him. With not even a glance at Balinor the boy faded into the darkened woods.

From his seat Balinor sighed and clenched his fist tightly.

* * *

_Twenty or so years later..._

Merlin wandered through the gates of Camelot, grin already stretching across his face at the thought of the start of his new life in this bustling city of kings.

Deep in the bowels of the castle the Great Dragon stirred for the first time in many years since his imprisonment, sensing the kin of the only one he'd ever called 'friend'.


	12. Triumvirate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Triumvirate - Phantom, Growth, Technologic and their Lieutenants Phantasm, Huntress, and S.A.M. make a little visit to the town of Dakota.
> 
> From the Destiny's Calling Universe.

Sam frowned and lounged back into her green, flowery plant-chair in the near jungle third of the basement. In the more ghostly third Danny was tinkering away at his gadgets with Danielle. Valerie was curled up into Sam’s side, eyes shut as her chest rose and fell in the peaceful pattern of sleep. Tucker was over in his pure technological third of the basement. Sasha was curled up in his lap, blushing, as the African American technical genius’ fingers danced across the keyboard.

Amanda and Michelle were thankfully keeping an eye on the upstairs while the trio of visionaries worked.

It had been ten years since that accident with the Fenton Ghost Portal. So much had changed since then, Sam mused. No one could have predicted the outcome, nor affect, that being subjected to so much concentrated ectoplasm would have on _them_ , the _sidekicks_ , as well as Danny. It wasn’t like Sam minded, really. She much preferred her new look, her aspirations and her unique abilities.

She just wished that Tucker could feel as comfortable as her in his new skin.

Lazily Sam’s gaze drifted across Tucker’s face. The genius’ lips were pulled into alight frown, his green eye narrowed in concentration as his fingers darted across the keyboard. Occasionally he raised a hand to stroke down Sasha’s back soothingly. The left half of his face was covered with a dark, metallic mask that curved off just past the corner of his lip. Painted onto the mask was an eye and eyebrow.

A thick, ropey wire was currently connected to the painted pupil of the eye, and the whole mask lit up with a slightly ethereal glow. A monocle sat over his right eye, giving him a sophisticated and aristocratic look. This look was furthered by the obvious “steampunk” style of clothing. The genius’ hair was curled back in thick ropes of dreadlocks which somehow tiered into pointed spikes gathered together at the top of his head. Curling down from his ears were twin strands of hair, twisted into bead-like shapes, and weighted by golden pikes.

All in all, Sam thought, Tucker was rather hot and dangerous looking—and she _would_ have probably attempted to date him if she hadn’t lost interest in men. The image of danger was enhanced by the almost continual presence of Amanda, Michelle, and Sasha. All three women were dressed within the same steampunk style, only somehow more skimpy and revealing and yet still showing a hint of danger. Except Sasha, Sam mused. That girl hardly ever exuded danger. She was more innocent of the three wives.

It still boggled Sam’s mind that Tucker had been able to give _life_ to his technological creations, which in turn gave him the ability to _have_ his wives. They existed as hardlight holograms when interacting in the physical world. At least he had someone to love and was no longer the third wheel, _especially_ since he crafted the _Relhancer_.

Sam’s gaze drifted over to Danny who was tinkering away in his ghostly form, alongside Dani his clone. Her eyes lingered slightly on Dani’s frame, taking in the young twenty-two year old’s curves and round backside for a moment before shifting back to Danny. The half-ghost had grown in the years she had known him. His entire outlook had changed, slowly but surely. He wasn’t the pure-hearted beam of innocence, like back then.

Phantom had a deeper understanding of life, all thanks to Vlad’s continuous actions. Almost none of Phantom’s skin could be seen on his person, except for the top of his neck, just below his chin, and his face. The twenty-four year old hero kept himself covered to hide the few scars that littered his body, scars that Sam knew had once bothered him.

They’d begun appearing when he was eighteen, after all. After a vicious dream involving Plasmius Danny would wake up, disoriented, and then his own flesh would tear and render. There would be gore and a lot of blood on the floor. It was painful, Sam knew. The first time Danny had screamed himself hoarse. Granted he had nearly been eviscerated.

The wound had healed up almost instantly after the incident, leaving behind a neat and clean “x” shaped scar on the teens abdomen. Since then Danny has had his heart figuratively ripped out, and his head figuratively severed from his shoulders. Both times healed up almost instantly with no signs of ever happening beside the scars.

It wasn’t any surprise that Phantom kept covered.

Sam could also appreciate the costume change, a strange amalgam of Dani and some possible future of Phantom’s that never happened. According to Danny he went insane and began lusting after _Clockwork_ of all ghosts in that. It was amusing as Clockwork was apparently already taken and spoken for. Plus there was that badly kept secret that Tucker and Sam had unearthed, but neither Phantom nor Plasmius knew of.

Sam’s lips curled slightly at the thought of Plasmius, now. She and Tucker had never been happier to discovery that the suffocating air of desire and sexual tension between the two had almost cleared. Who cared if it was thanks to a drunken night of debauchery? At least Phantom and Plasmius were no longer at each other’s throats, which was a very good plus. It also meant that Danny _wasn’t_ spitting out pheromones like two rabbits going at it.

It had been giving the young women a headache for _years_. Of course the entire situation _was_ rather amusing since Phantom and Plasmius had gotten that tension out of the way. After all Plasmius was _pregnant_. Sam’s lips curled down again at that. Thoughts of Plasmius pregnant brought back thoughts of the newest half-ghost. _Dan_.

The brat tended to annoy her sometimes, and cause her to want to spoil him rotten others. Sam wasn’t exactly sure _what_ Clockwork was hoping to achieve with sending the brat back eighteen years into his own past, before he was _born_. She was pretty sure it _wasn’t_ to give her a migraine. However one never knew with that ghost.

Oh well, she didn’t need to ponder the whimsies of an ancient and powerful being. With a slightly quirky grin the goth allowed her gaze to drift over to the slumbering Valerie.

If anyone had told her at the tender age of fourteen that the _real_ reason for her getting all jealous and angry over Danny and Valerie dating was because she was _crushing_ on the former A-List teen Sam would’ve decked them. Back then Sam had been thoroughly sure she was in complete love with Danny. Of course by the time they both started dating both teens had realized that no, they didn’t feel that way for each other. Danny was of course gay, and she herself was more attracted to the fairer sex.

It just took attempting to be together, like everyone expected, to realize that.

Sam gave a fanged grin down at Valerie, stroking her fingers through the beautiful women’s shoulder length hair. With but a thought a simple a yellow tulip bloomed between her fingers. Deftly Sam weaved the flower into Valerie’s hair, surrounding her head like a beautifully wreathed crown. Like Tucker Sam herself had undergone some changes.

Tucker’s changes had been granted to him by the numerous possessions and one dangerous brush with Technus that had almost killed the young man. Sam’s changes came from her various possessions and almost marriage to the dragon prince Aragon.

When Undergrowth had come to town the first of the major changes began to develop, slowly but surely. Sam had already felt closely connected to the earth, even back then at the age of fourteen. Undergrowth had given her the means of truly connecting to nature. Now she could bloom flowers, create weapons out of plants…even communicate with the wildlife.

Aragon’s attempt to force her into marriage had given her a kinship with the Dragons. Dora was almost like a distant cousin to her, now, and through that Sam had gained a set of instincts and a whole slew of problems. Her eyes had changed, contaminated by the ectoplasm that had built up and begun to run rampant in her system. They were now a mix of purple and green. Her clothes were entirely organic materials, befitting her goth persona.

They were also just a tad lighter compared to her teenage years, but still dark enough to fit her dark outlook on the world.

“Mm…Sam,” Valerie murmured, shifting and blinking open her eyes to smile at the women. Sam chuckled lightly as well, the bell at her wrist ringing just slightly as she moved. It was a gift from her beautiful Valerie, and so she always wore it.

“My darling Amazonian princess,” Sam murmured lightly, stroking a finger down Valerie’s cheek. “How you grace me with your waking presence once more…”

Valerie leaned up and kissed Sam lightly, murmuring, “Love you, my nature goddess.”

The door to the basement slid open with a faint whoosh, part of Tucker’s technological additions to the apartment turned mansion. Michelle carefully stepped into the room, making her way carefully and almost sensually over to Tucker. The technological genius had turned the minute Michelle entered, his gaze following the sway of her hips.

Danny, Dani, Sam, and Valerie watched with interest.

Michelle leaned down lightly and placed a deep kiss to Tucker’s lips the minute she had reached his third of the basement.

“To what do I owe this interruption, Michelle?” Tucker murmured, stroking at Sasha’s hair gently.

“Phone call,” Michelle replied, a light smile on her lips. Tucker arched his eyebrow lightly and carefully tapped his right ear.

“Tucker Foley— _Uncle Robert?_ Man I haven’t heard from you in years!” Tucker stated, chipper. “What can I do for you? Huh? You need me to housesit…? Oh, no, you need me to _babysit?_ Sheesh, aren’t Sharon and Virgil old enough to take care of themselves? They’re what, sixteen and fourteen now?” Tucker swiveled his chair around lightly and narrowed his eyes. “I suppose I see where you are coming from. Yeah, sure, I’ll watch ‘em. You still live in Dakota, right? Good, good…mind if I bring some friends along? Mm, yeah, Sam and Danny…of course! Well we never are far without the other, I’m sure you’ve heard. Alright, Uncle Robert. Yes, that’s fine. We’ll be there then. Mhmm…right, bye!”

“What was that about?” Phantom questioned, arching an eyebrow. “What have you made me agree to _this_ time, Tuck?”

Tucker chuckled lightly, “We’re heading on a little vacation to Dakota, Phantom. To keep an eye on my fourteen and sixteen year old cousins for a week or so.”

Phantom’s brow furrowed.

“Dakota is where they’ve had these ‘meta humans’ correct?” Sam queried. “The children who were affected by some sort of chemical leak?”

Tucker nodded his head in agreement.

“Yes, and they even have their own _teenage superhero_ ,” the genius chuckled. “Two, actually. I figured we could drop by and give them pointers if they need it.”

Phantom frowned and pointed out, “You are forgetting about Vlad. I can’t just leave him here, alone. And don’t even _let_ me think about leaving him here alone with _Dan!_ Who knows what trouble those two will make! And I have a _child_ to think about, Tucker.”

Danielle touched a glove hand to Phantom’s shoulder. The older halfa glanced down at his female clone.

“I’ll remain behind and keep an eye on Vlad, Phantom,” Danielle murmured. “I’ll keep him safe. In a way, after all…I’m you. I have a vested interest in that kid as much as you do. He could just as easily have been _my_ flesh and blood, and in a way he is.”

Phantom’s lips curled just slightly, but he knew Danielle was trustworthy. And she was right, in a way. They _were_ the same person, in some fashion. Danielle could protect Vlad.

“Fine, but Dan is coming with us.”

“And so am I!” Valerie interjected. “Like hell am I letting you guys have all the fun!”

Tucker rolled his eyes lightly with a slight grin, stating, “I wouldn’t have it any other way. We leave Friday…you best break the news to Vlad and Dan, Phantom. Soon.”

Phantom snorted, “Whatever.”

* * *

Phantom frowned lightly as he hovered above Vlad’s slumbering form. The glowing, green ectoplasmic sac floated gently next to the expecting halfa, cuddled protectively in curled fingers. Almost hesitantly Phantom drifted forward and placed a glove hand over the sac, feeling the gently beat of his unborn child.

“It’s funny how alcohol affects a person, isn’t it Little Badger,” Vlad murmured softly and Phantom jerked back. The young man looked away, green eyes narrowing.

“You confuse me, sometimes, Fruitloop,” he muttered, clenching his fists. “What you’ve done….”

“—was all ironically because I couldn’t stomach the thought of you with anyone _but_ me,” Vlad snorted bitterly. “Trust me, I’ve gone through every tiny memory I’ve got of… _however_ fucking long you and I have existed. All the way back to our _first_ meeting in which you said, and I quote ‘You look like a drowned smurf’ to my face.”

Phantom snickered and stated, “Well I was _ten_ , Plasmius. What did you expect me to say when this older spook suddenly came _onto_ me? You were what, sixteen? Besides, you got me back for that. Head trauma, I think I was told.”

“And that’s where it all began, wasn’t it,” Vlad sighed. “All our fights, our differences…the blood and ectoplasm shed in fury and hate. All that _death_.”

Phantom looked down at his fists, gaze contemplative, before he uttered softly, “I guess it was. Funny how things work out, isn’t it? We do so much, ruin so much and yet…somehow we’re creating something together. Sometimes I…feel like this is a dream, and I’ll wake up and realize you still absolutely hate my guts.”

“The same for me, Little Badger,” Vlad groaned, pulling himself up to a sitting position. “So…to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit now?”

Phantom frowned again and crossed his legs, looking down at Vlad. His instincts told him that under _no_ circumstances should he leave, but instincts also recognized that Danielle could take care of Vlad as needed. Now just to get the moron to agree.

“…Tucker’s Uncle has asked him to head down to watch his kids. Sam and I have been volunteered to help out. Valerie will be going and I’m going to take Dan with me.”

“ _No._ ”

Green eyes narrowed and froze to a dark, dangerous blue. Phantom’s entire body began to permeate cold, his fingers encasing in frost.

“As much as I wish to deny my friend, a part of my triumvirate, I cannot, Plasmius.”

“So you would leave me alone?!” Vlad’s eyes glowed an angry pink.

“ _Of course not!_ ” Vlad jerked back at the shriek. “Despite everything I _know_ about you Plasmius, there is one thing I’ve begun to accept is that you are _mine_. My mate, my soul, my _other fucking half_ , and even though we used to _never get along with one another_ I’m not about to be remiss in my _care for you!_ ”

“Then why are you—”

Phantom sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Because I _know_ you, Fruitloop. Too well.”

“Very well,” Vlad murmured. “Have you told him?”

“I figured I would mention it to you first.”

There was silence between the two and then, “Am I to assume young miss Danielle is to remain behind?”

“She volunteered.”

 _That_ surprised Vlad. His mouth actually fell open and he started to ask away with Phantom shot him an irritated look.

“Someone _did_ attempt to clone me, and therefore she _is_ a facet of me. In a way Dan is as much hers as he is mine. She has every right to stay behind for you two.”

Vlad looked away, abashed, and murmured, “I apologize…”

“Tell _her_ that.”

Vlad nodded once and then motioned toward the bed.

“Will you…join me, Daniel? You’ve been away all day….”

Phantom’s lips quirked slightly as he touched down on the ground. Blue rings twisted up and around, leaving behind the human persona, who still was smirking.

“Of course, Vlad,” he stated. “I could go for a good cuddle with Mr. Shortstack anyway.”

Vlad scowled and muttered, “Fucking giant,” to the dig toward his height.

“Love you too.”

* * *

Gear glanced over at his partner in heroism, Static. He allowed his gaze to wander, just for a brief minute, down Static’s frame, taking in the obvious muscles and new outfit. Gear was proud to say he designed the costume, and definitely appreciated the darker look. It gave Static a more…grown up feel.

Considering that he created the outfit after he, Hotstreak, and Static first slept together he felt it was fitting; a shedding of innocence after the start into their career in heroism. The fact that they finally all hooked up, after months of each party posturing and facing their own set of confusing issues, was almost a miracle.

Gear would’ve gladly taken that bullet _sooner_ if it got them to get over their differences and realize that they all liked one another. For that reason he was rather thankful to Jimmy, and thankful to guns.

Not that Gear would ever say such a thing within Static’s presence. The electromagnetic hero had an almost crippling fear of the weapon, and within good reason. Gear just hoped no one else, especially an enemy, learned of this particular weakness. It was bad enough that the enemies knew _he_ was a weakness for Static.

As evidenced by Ebon kidnapping him so many times _before_ he became Gear.

Hotstreak had come as a surprise to Gear, to be honest. Apparently the pyromaniac teen had been struggling for some time with the fact that he was gay, unlike Gear and Static’s bisexuality. Hotstreak had taken to taking out his urges and sexual frustration with beating upon those weaker than himself, primarily Gear and Static’s alter egos. It probably helped that Hotstreak had been crushing on them _even then_.

When Gear had gotten shot in the leg, then still an almost normal human teen with just a slightly above average intelligence (compared to Static’s almost genius intelligence at the time), Hotstreak had been impressed. Apparently Gear handled the pain rather well, and the fact that he kept his relative cool in front of the weapon helped.

Gear gained street cred in Hotstreak’s eyes. It was rather shocking for the teen, then. Especially since Hotstreak was so much… _older_ than them. He and Static were only fourteen, Hotstreak was seventeen and would’ve been finishing up his senior year. It was kind of saddening that ever since the Big Bang Hotstreak wouldn’t finish up his schooling.

Granted Gear was pretty sure Hotstreak would’ve dropped out or died before he finished if the Big Bang hadn’t ever happened in the first place anyway.

The hero shook his head shortly and focused on patrol. It wouldn’t do to linger on ‘what if’s. Instead he thought about the here and now. Apparently after sleeping with both Gear and Static, Hotstreak had come to the realization on who Static was behind the mask. Gear’s lips quirked lightly at the memory. Static had lost momentary control in the throes of pleasure and shocked him _and_ Hotstreak. It was a light, pleasurable shock but a shock nonetheless.

Hotstreak easily put two and two together after he had time to think beyond _‘oh god more, more, more! Fuck yes please yes more please!’_

“What you thinkin’ ‘bout, Gear?” Static questioned, lazily sitting down on the Saucer. Gear’s lips quirked.

“Hotstreak and begging. Who knew he was a screamer?”

“Who knew he was so willing to be submissive?”

Both hero’s smirked at that. Hotstreak was _theirs_ and they recognized this fact. Years down the road things might change, but for now they _owned_ the pryo.

Gear ground to a halt quite suddenly, Static pulling to a stop just ahead of him. Quiet beeps and whirls of backpack alerted both teens to the possibility of a nearby meta-human. Static raised a cackling and glowing hand to his ear. He smirked.

“What do you know…” the hero murmured to his partner. A jet of flame shot up into the air. Gear grinned as well.

“…looks like Hotstreak wants to play some more,” the technopath finished and fingered his new and improved Zap Caps in excitement.

With identical grins both teens shot off in the direction of the flame.

* * *

Francis “F-Stop, Hotstreak” Stone did not quite understand his younger lovers, although that wasn’t too bad a thing he supposed. They allowed him to do his own thing, and he got great sex and liberal usage of his own kinks out of it. Granted they _were_ virgins until recently, and while he _knew_ this it was still a surprising thought.

They didn’t _act_ like virgins.

Still Hotstreak just didn’t get the boys sometimes. For example they were heroes and he was, well, a criminal. He didn’t _like_ being a criminal, but it _was_ the only life he knew for now. Hotstreak had amended, to himself, that someday he was going to give up the life of petty crime and get a hold of his temper and _maybe_ try a stint at being a hero. For the time being, however, he was content…ish.

Plus his lovers were heroes. They lived to catch him and hey! It played on his kinks. Bondage. _Yum._

Still, he didn’t understand them. Their idea of him letting them know he wants to ‘play’ is for him to burn something and make a ruckus. Hotstreak was all for that as usually when he lost his cool and threw a ‘Hotstreak Temper Tantrum’ he was horny anyway and needed a damn good fuck.

It was partially why he _hadn’t_ plagued the city at all recently. He was feeling sated.

Plus Hotstreak could easily corner Gear or Static out of costume and get a good lay anyway. Usually that’s what he did. Sometimes though the kinks just wanted to be played with…and it usually helped if the boys were in costume. Hotstreak was also pretty sure that the ‘heroes’ were secret pyromaniacs.

Why else would they request he make a nuisance of himself first?

“Hotstreak!”

 _‘And speak of the devil,_ ’ the pyromaniac thought.

“About damn time you fuckers got here!” he snorted lightly under his breath. “Let’s heat things up!”

Hotstreak took to the air. He loved a good chase. Carefully he maneuvered the two heroes out of the city and into the suburbs. Since this particular battle would end in a good lay the pyro wanted to be somewhere comfortable. Plus he was tired of burning shit for the evening.

Without any real thought he gave a pretty good chase, losing all of the cops and none of the heroes, and sneakily snuck in through the back door of the Hawkins’s little four bedroom house. Sharon was in the kitchen, slaving over the oven when he entered. She raised a slight eyebrow but shrugged.

“Interesting seeing you here this early, Francis,” she greeted.

Hotstreak winced. Any second now the two heroes would come barreling through that door and although Sharon knew of each of their identities (Hotstreaks was a given, he practically SHOUTED it after all, but all three were confused as to how Sharon figured out Static and Gear) Mr. Hawkins didn’t. And if Sharon was home cooking…Mr. Hawkins was bound to be home as well.

After that entire babysitter cousin guy was supposed to be coming over today, Hotstreak realized. It was a second too late.

Gear burst through the back door, tossing a modified Zap Cap at Hotstreak who winced as the little bulb burst into a giant mass of tentacles (kinky, and great on bondage, although Hotstreak had to wonder _how_ Richie fit them all in such a tiny package) which forced him against the wall. Normally Hotstreak would flame up in a situation such as this but…the walls were wooden, and this _was_ a house. In a development. Where people lived.

He had some morals, after all.

And even if he weren’t feeling the game anymore, especially since Mr. Hawkins was home and didn’t know about his son’s extracurricular activities (both the sex _and_ the heroism) killed any wish Hotstreak had for sex. Then the reminder of what was to come this evening (which Hotstreak had been invited to; Mr. Hawkins was rather nice in giving him a place to lay-low, leaving Hotstreak to _wonder_ just what the man suspected) pretty much snuffed any want to have a good lay _for the whole week_.

Granted even if he _weren’t_ trying to give a good show for the game (which he would, normally, by breaking at least _two_ Zap Cap bonds before giving in on the third) Hotstreak wouldn’t have flamed up anyway. It was a _residential neighborhood_. With _homes_. He didn’t want to put anyone out of house and home. It was why he only burned public buildings, really. _Those_ could be fixed easily.

A home could not, and there was one thing Hotstreak _never_ wanted to be, and that was a home wrecker. In _any_ sense of the word.

Gear sidled up to his bound and feebly struggling form as Static burst through the door. Sharon apparently recognized the play for what it was and began tearing into her brother about breaking into people’s homes. She didn’t mention names, thankfully. Instead he played the moral citizen (which gave credence to Mr. Hawkins being home) but Gear and Static apparently didn’t quite get the memo.

This was evidenced by Gear stuffing his hand down Hotstreak’s pants with a slightly naughty grin, causing Hotstreak to yelp.

“Hey! Don’t touch me, freak!” _‘Note to self: buy smaller pants…or steal, steal always works.’_

“Now, Hotstreak,” Gear said, all sultry and sexy like that tended to make Hotstreak melt, “I thought you wanted to play with me and Static?”

Static piped up from the wall he was backed into, “Yeah, baby, we had so much fun last time! What’s a bit of bondage teasing, huh? Gets your blood pumping!”

Hotstreak winced slightly at the blatant and obvious hint towards their previous activities. Sharon wasn’t exactly happy, he noticed.

“VIRGIL ORVID HAWKINS!” Sharon shrieked and Static meeped and shrank down. “YOU KEEP YOUR SEX LIFE BEHIND CLOSE DOORS DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

 _‘Oh gods I hope Mr. Hawkins didn’t hear that…please let him not of heard that!’_ Hotstreak panicked lightly.

“Sorry sis!” Static winced, trying to inch past her. “This was all Richie’s idea!”

“Nuh uh! Don’t you go blaming me, V!” Gear stated, shaking his head. “Francis is the one with the bondage fetish!”

Hotstreak growled, “You guys are both assholes, you know that?”

“THAT IS IT! GET OUT! OUT! OUT! OUT! OUT! OUT!” Sharon almost _roared_.

_‘I REALLY hope Mr. Hawkins didn’t hear that!’_

“But Sharon--!” Static whined.

“I’VE HAD ENOUGH VIRGIL! GET OUT!”

Hotstreak groaned lightly and stated, “I can’t move exactly, unless you want your house burned down,” whilst attempting to ignore Gear’s hands _still_ in his pants, only now fondling his balls so _blatantly and obviously_. Did the kid have a death wish?

Sharon just _roared_ and Static leaped into action, creating a stream of electricity that connected to the metal straps wound around Hostreaks form. He hopped up onto his Saucer and started to fly out with Gear gripping Hotstreak tight and nibbling at his neck now.

“See you later, Sharon! We’ll be back in time for dinner to meet the babysitters!” Gear called and the turned to Static, “I still can’t believe your getting babysitters, V.”

Sharon could faintly hear Hotstreak cursing up a storm, yelling, “WOULD SOMEONE FUCKING UNTIE ME ALREADY!”

And Static replying, “But baby you like it!”

And Hotstreak shrieking, “HEY! HANDS OUTTA THE PANTS, GEAR!”

She sighed and leaned against the wall with a muttered, “Thank god Daddy doesn’t know yet.”

“I don’t know what?” Robert Hawkins asked, stepping into the kitchen with a raised brow. Sharon laughed nervously.

“Nothing Daddy! Nothing at all! It’s just, you see, Virgil’s gone out with Richie for the evening so he won’t be back until its dinner time! I promise he’ll be home though!”

Robert frowned and stated, “Well that’s okay honey. Your cousin should be here any minute, so be sure to let your brother know…”

“Of course Daddy!”

Robert left the kitchen and Sharon actually collapsed this time.

Mentally she added, _‘And thank god Daddy didn’t hear us shouting!’_

* * *

Static, Gear, and Hotstreak were just flying by on their way to the Abandoned Gas Station of Solitude (which Hotstreak was trying, and failing, to convince the teens to rename) when a sharp dome of electricity sprang up, crackling and sparking in a controlled manner. Gear and Static ground to a halt, Hotstreak forced to stop as well due to still being all bound up.

Only now he was extremely horny and kind of missing Gear’s hands from his pants. He shuddered when the teen happily reapplied them without any coercing.

The electricity dome fizzled away, leaving behind five people kneeling on the ground. One of them was a _tall_ African American with a half-face-metallic-mask thing and holding what looked like an overly long oar with a bunch of gadgets hooked into the paddle. Sparks of electricity jumped from two antenna on the oar.

Kneeling next to him was a tan man with shocking white hair and a strange black and white spandex costume. His eyes were a glowing, florescent green. In fact his entire body seemed to just _glow_ with some sort of inner light. Next to him was a similarly dressed teen, only his skin was light bluish color, his eyes a blood red, and his white hair rose up in flames. He also had a white cape on.

On the other side of the African American knelt a skimpily dressed women who had on some sort of facemask and clutched a _very large_ scythe in her hands. Her outfit was mostly black, green, and purple and held an organic look. Next to her was a woman in a full red body suit including facemask/helmet with a sort of visor. From what little the three super powered teens could see of her face she looked to possibly be African American as well.

The tall, most probably six feet or more, African American man straightened up, following by his four companions, and asked, “Everyone arrived in one piece?”

“If we hadn’t you’d have Relhancer lodged somewhere painful, with Overgrowth poised to make you _less of a man,_ ” the organic woman stated bluntly.

“I also wouldn’t be able to guarantee that certain parts of your own anatomy would be working further,” the white haired man uttered.

The African American just grinned and replied, “I can just feel the love!”

Red snorted, “Techno if you want love go sleep with your computers again.”

Techno jerked back and pulled out a cellphone, iPod, and PDA. He cuddled them in his arms and began murmuring soft condolences and apologies, saying that there was no way he had been cheating on them with that _scamp of a computer!_

The one teen of the group sniggered lightly.

Gear, Static, and Hotstreak were all slightly disturbed but too horny to care. If these newcomers caused problems… _then_ they’d deal with it. With that thought firmly in place Static flew off, dragging Hotstreak and Gear with him.

‘Techno’ watched them leave with a slight smirk.

“Looks like Virgil will be late to dinner,” he murmured, his entire form shimmering slightly until it was replaced with a shorter, and more normal looking man. He had on an orange shirt that said ‘Wanna see my _Gadgets?_ ’ a pair of simple glasses, and his hair, split into dreadlocks, was pulled back into a ponytail. He settled the iPod, PDA, and Cellphone into pockets of his cargo pants.

To his left the ‘organic’ women carefully removed the facemask and slipped her scythe ‘Overgrowth’ into what looked like a small bag. She slipped off other small accessories and slipped them into the bag as well before placing the bag in between her breasts.

Red touched a button on her suit which retracted back into the nanites in her bloodstream. She calmly pulled her hair out of the bun it was wound into, letting it rest at her shoulders freely. She had on a simple set of jeans and an orange long bell-sleeved shirt. Her aquamarine eyes looked amused.

The two white haired beings just smirked identically as twin white rings appeared at their middle and split, racing up their top and lower half of their bodies, replacing all black and white and spandex with simple jeans and shirts and human skin with no glow.

The man’s hair turned pitch black, his green eyes became an icy blue. He had a black goatee that replaced the white one, and a blue jean jacket on over a plain white and red tee-shirt. A pair of baggy blue jeans hung around his hips, snug at the waist. A simple, what looked like glass but was actually ice, charm hunt from his neck. It was in the same symbol that had been on his chest of the spandex outfit. A black cloth was wound around his throat.

The teen’s hair settled down into a similar fashion as the man’s, also pitch black. His eyes darkened just a tad to a more bloody mud color with a light green ring around his pupil. His ears shrank down from their long and pointed appearance to a smaller, but still pointed look. He had on earrings and a spiked collar. His spandex tunic turned into a red and black sweater that almost appeared too big. He had on a pair of low-riding loose black cargo jeans with combat boots and chains.

Red glanced over at Techno and asked, bluntly, “You gonna tell ‘em, Tucker?”

Techno-Tucker chuckled and replied, “Perhaps. Fourteen and a superhero, huh, Danny? Seems familiar.”

Sam snorted and replied, “But the red head that Gear was feeling up _wasn’t_ a superhero.”

“So they’re banging a villain, not like our Phantom does that,” Valerie replied with a slight laugh. “Oh, wait…he _does!_ ”

“Ha, ha, Valerie,” Danny muttered. “I’m so amused I could _die_.”

“But dad…you already are half-dead,” Dan frowned.

Danny sighed and palmed his forehead, “It’s a joke, Dan.”

“Oh.”

“Can we just head to my cousins?” Tucker interrupted everyone. “We’ll discuss the possible revelation factors _later_. I need to recharge after that, thank you.”

* * *

Francis strained against the handcuffs, groaning and panting and mewling. Richie had his beautiful lips wrapped tightly around his erection, giving him so much pleasure. A little suction here, a little swirl of his tongue there, just the lightest application of teeth to the skin…Francis was in heaven. He just wished Virgil hadn’t applied bonds there too.

“F-Fuck!” the pyromaniac almost shrieked. Virgil leaned down and pulled the older teen into a kiss.

“That’s the idea,” he murmured.

Francis gave off a whine of loss when Richie pulled his head up and stated, “But no penetration, V? You’re sure about that one?”

“I have family coming over, Rich,” Virgil shook his head, tweaking a nipple on Francis’ chest. “I _really_ don’t wanna be limping in front of Tucker.”

“Well who said it had to be you?”

“You wanna be limping in front of Tucker?”

“Good point.”

“ _GODDAMMIT RICHIE SUCK MY FUCKING DICK!_ ” Francis roared, glaring down at the blond. Richie shot him a saucy grin and wave and went right back down.

“Frankie you continue shouting like that and I’ll get out the ballgag,” Virgil muttered, nipping at Francis neck. Francis strained against his bonds again.

“Da-dammit, Virgil,” he moaned.

“Mm…I thought so.”

All three didn’t really last that long.

* * *

The doorbell rang, drawing Robert Hawkins’ mind from packing. He blinked for a second until it rang a second time.

“Don’t worry about the door Sharon, it’s probably just your cousin!” Robert called, exiting his bedroom and thumping down the stairs. He pulled open the door and smiled.

“Tucker!” he greeted, pulling the boy into a hug. “Ah it’s good to see you, son! How have you been?”

Tucker laughed lightly and squeezed Robert back, “I’ve been good Uncle Robert. Finished up my first four years of college, heading back for more in three weeks.” They parted. “These are my friends. Sam Manson, whom I’ve mentioned.”

“Hello Mr. Hawkins,” Sam nodded. “I’m sorry for being unable to come seven years ago, but my parents weren’t…as accommodating of my leaving back then.”

“It’s quite alright,” Robert nodded. “I do thank you for the flowers you send every year though, and for the memorial. It’s rather nice of you.”

“Well…Tuck spoke of Jena a lot when we were younger…I kind of felt like I knew her,” Sam muttered, blushing.

 “Valerie Grey,” Tucker motioned toward Valerie who waved. “And you know Danny of course.”

“Of course,” Robert nodded. “Come here son!” He pulled the no longer scrawny boy into a hug as well. “My you’ve put on some muscle!”

Danny laughed lightly, hugging the man back, “I wish to apologize for being unable to attend the memorial, Uncle Robert,” the young man uttered. “Unfortunately I had some personal problems. Tucker said Virgil made a beautiful speech?”

Robert nodded, “Yes, he did…he’s still hurting, though, after all these years. And after Richie got shot just a few weeks ago…well I’m pretty sure Virgil’s more shaken up than he lets on.”

Tucker’s eyes widened in realization, and in an understanding tone he murmured, “So _that’s_ why you wanted me to babysit….”

“I’m sorry for not mentioning it, Tucker,” Robert sighed, “but…I didn’t want to force you to stay, you understand?” Tucker murmured his own ascent, sharing a quick glance with Danny, Sam, and Valerie. “Now…who is this young man?”

“Oh! That’s Dan Fester,” Tucker stated. “Danny’s kind of in charge of him for the time being. Dan got into some trouble a few weeks back and has been put in Danny’s care. They’re cousins, although with how attached Dan is you might not realize it.” Tucker laughed shortly and added in a whisper. “He sometimes slips and calls Danny ‘Dad’ see?”

“Poor boy…” Robert muttered, taking in the pointed ears and odd gaze. He could guess what type of ‘trouble’ young Dan had gotten into. “Is this part of the personal problems you mentioned, Danny?”

The ebony haired man nodded shortly, a slight quirk falling across his lips. He didn’t say anything, though, and Dan was too engrossed in whatever game he was playing to notice what was going on.

“Well why don’t you all come in? I’m afraid Virgil went out with some friends earlier but he should be home later. Sharon’s cooking in the kitchen right now and before you say anything, Tucker, she has improved. I saw that look young man.”

Tucker chuckled.

“I’m sorry to leave you all unattended but I need to finish some last minute packing. I have a plane to catch in an hour,” Robert stated with a nod. “It was good to see you again, though, Danny, Tucker, Sam. Nice to meet you Valerie, Dan.”

With that Robert went up the stairs and Dan finally spoke up.

“Cousins? _Really_ Uncle Tucker?”

Tucker raised an eyebrow at the teenager and stated, “You _want_ me to tell my potentially homophobic, Christian Uncle that you are the future butt-baby of my best friend and a man in his fifties?”

Dan opened his mouth, a refute already on his tongue, and then paused. He closed his mouth and muttered, “Good point,” instead.

* * *

Virgil, Richie and Francis stumbled into the door much later than any of the three boys had anticipated. Neither of the teens had expected a Bang Baby to show up when they planned on returning home, nor did they expect the sudden rush of petty crimes and villains running amok. Needless to say Static and Gear were bone dead tired and Francis ended up getting roped into the heroics as well, much to the police’s surprise.

So sleepy, and hungry, all three boys piled into the Hawkins residence to be greeted by an irate Sharon. The eldest of the Hawkins children hand her hands on her hips, her lips pulled into a scowl, and her foot tapping in that extremely annoyed way.

“Where the _hell_ have you been, Virgil?” she demanded the instant the boys got through the door. “Daddy left over _three hours ago_ and Tucker and his friends have been here for almost _four hours!_ ”

Virgil winced and muttered something about it being an accident and not happening again and could they _please_ have something to eat because they were _starving_? Sharon didn’t look ready to give an inch and opened her mouth to rip into them some more when a large hand was placed gently on her shoulder.

The teens all stared up at the smiling face of Danny Fenton, Tucker’s best friend.

“It’s alright, Sharon,” Danny chuckled. “Tuck, Sam, and I aren’t at all upset and Valerie’s appreciated the bonding time you two have shared.”

“What about—”

“Dan has ways to entertain himself, he’s not _hopeless_ ,” Danny pointed out. “After all he’s been playing away on his PSP, which he usually does back in Amity anyway. He _is_ grounded, sort of.”

“You’re a dick, dad!” Dan shouted from the couch.

“And you’re the foolish cousin of mine that got himself in a _lot_ of trouble, leaving _me_ to clean up the mess and _get you out of it_ ,” Danny pointed out bluntly.

“Still a dick.”

Danny shook his head, although he was grinning as he said, “You’d never think he’s eighteen, would you?” Calmly he let go of Sharon’s shoulder and turned around, walking into the living room. “Oi! Tuck! Your cousin’s back!”

“About damn time,” Tucker muttered, stepping out of the kitchen. “I was afraid I’d keep having to field Sharon!”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” Sharon whined as Tucker walked up to slightly gaping trio of boys and one big sister. Tucker just laughed and placed a kiss to her cheek.

“Nothing ‘cuz,” he said. “Just you being a big sister. Danny, Sam and I dealt with Jazz enough to understand.”

Virgil blinked, slowly, and the uttered almost disbelieving, “Cousin? Tucker? Man that you?”

Tucker laughed lightly and yanked Virgil into a hug, “Why Virgil, my man, you act like you haven’t seen me in years! I was at the memorial, you know. Saw your speech, ‘cuz.”

Virgil flushed red.

“I…didn’t see you,” he muttered.

“Must’ve missed me,” Tucker said lightly. “Now I recognize Richie, how you doin’ bro?”

“Good, good!” Richie greeted with slightly more enthusiasm than Virgil. “It’s great to see you again bro, don’t mind V. He’s just a little shell shocked and tired.”

Tucker nodded sagely, “Mhmm, I hear you. And who’s this young man?”

Francis smiled hesitantly and mumbled, “F-Francis Stone. Mr. Hawkins’ uh…let’s me stay the night sometimes, sir.”

Tucker raised an eyebrow but shrugged, “S’cool, man. Just don’t call me ‘sir’ makes me feel old, and I’m only twenty-four! Now why don’t we get you boys something to eat? Sam’s in the kitchen right now with Valerie making herself some veggie stuff, if you’re interested. If not we have some good ol’ meat in the fridge just waiting to be warmed up.”

Almost like a pro Tucker herded the boys into the kitchen, pausing to holler to Danny, “Can you shut the door, Danny? Thanks!”

Danny rolled his eyes and flicked his fingers. A simple, green and weak ghostly ray knocked the door shut. Sharon’s mouth fell open in shock. From the couch Dan frowned.

“Dad, why is Sharon-lady staring at you in horror?”

Danny blinked, turned, and paled slightly.

“Well…fuck.”

“Not interested, dad. You’re not my type. Plus mom would kill me.”

“ _It’s a_ _figure of speech Dan!_ ”

Sharon paled and wobbled slightly. With a sharp glance to Dan Danny leaped up and moved quickly to catch her before she fell. Dan smirked and stood slowly; he lazily wandered off into the kitchen. Danny frowned lightly and muttered, “brat,” under his breath.

“Come on…let’s get you upstairs,” the young man sighed, helping Sharon stand. “I’ll answer any questions, I promise. And Tuck will explain the details, okay?” Sharon opened her mouth and Danny added, softly, “I’m not gonna hurt you, Sharon…I don’t hurt humans.”

Sharon swallowed but didn’t stop Danny from helping her up the stairs. While she could have walked on her own, Danny’s own words of ‘I don’t hurt humans’ freaked her out just a bit; enough that her legs felt like jelly and her throat tight. She hardly noticed him leading her right to her room and gently guiding her to sit at the edge of the bed.

Danny frowned lightly and asked softly, “Sharon?”

Sharon swallowed heavily, “…Yes?”

Danny flinched at the fear tinting her voice. This…wasn’t good. Where was Tucker?

* * *

Sam raised her brows when Dan sidled into the kitchen, shoulders hunched but a wide grin on his face. From beside her Valerie sighed and spoke up, taking a sip of the herbal tea Sam made her, “What did you do, Dan.”

Dan scowled and almost _growled_ back, “Who said I did anything, Aunt Val?”

“Your wide grin and hunched shoulders tell a thousand tales, boy,” Valerie replied, almost calmly, her aquamarine eyes half-lidded and focused solely on the teen. “Now spill.”

Dan’s shoulders hunched even more as he slid into a seat beside Francis, glaring down at the table. Francis could hardly _hear_ whatever was being mumbled under the pointy eared kids breath, but apparently the adults could hear him just fine as Valerie smirked lightly, Tucker rolled his eyes, and Sam whacked the back of his dark haired head.

“Haven’t your parents instilled manners into you?” the short haired women snapped. “You do _not_ call a lady such names! And don’t give me the ‘but I’m as bent as a turnpike’ excuse either, Daniel Vladimir Fester! That does _not_ give you the right to be rude to a lady!”

Dan frowned and said, “But she’s _not_ a lady! She’s a vicious dragon she-beast! Just like you and Nate and Tosh and Aunt Dani! You’re all vicious dragon she-beasts!”

Tucker burst out laughing and was rewarded by Sam whacking him one too.

“Oww! Sam what was that for?” Tucker whined, rubbing his head. Valerie snickered into her tea.

“That was for being insensitive!” Sam snapped.

“It’s that time of the month, isn’t it,” Tucker remarked dryly and was slapped again. “Ow!”

Valerie collapsed into full blown giggles as Virgil shifted over and stage-whispered to Tucker, “Man, cuz, you do _not_ tell that to a lady! Are you _looking_ to get viciously eaten by the dragon she-beast?”

“See, Uncle Sam! Even Virgil agrees with me!” Dan spoke up, a wide grin crossing his face. Sam actually growled, low. Dan shrank back. “Never mind! You’re a lovely, lovely um…person? Please don’t hurt me!”

Still giggling Valerie placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and pulled her back down into her seat.

“Calm down, Sam,” she soothed. “Ignore them. They’re just boys…and besides, you can get back at them later, remember?”

A slow, scary grin crossed Sam’s face. Dan and Tucker instantly paled.

“Dan…we’re dead,” Tucker whimpered lightly. “We’re _so_ dead.”

“Then I guess now isn’t a good time to mention dad wants to talk to you and needs help explaining stuff to Sharon-lady?” Dan meeped. Sam’s grin widened.

“Um…yeah, that would be a _bad_ thing to mention now,” Tucker squeaked. Sam showed slightly pointed teeth. “But on the other hand we should probably deal with it _right away!_ Come on Dan! _RUN!_ ”

They bolted. Sam just smirked lightly and relaxed back. Francis, Richie, and Virgil were wide eyed and open mouthed. Each boy was wondering if they should run too as Sam trailed her gaze over them. At least until Valerie calmly pecked Sam on the cheek and told her that she’d frightened the boys enough. Anymore and they might have heart attacks!

Virgil just wondered why his cousin was friends with a she-beast, because that was _all_ Sam could be. She certainly _wasn’t_ human. Not with _that_ scary look! Granted neither was Sharon, either. She was some sort of nagging she-beast.

And then came a rather horrible, scary thought to Virgil. What if… _all_ women were she-beasts? He paled lightly and told himself resolutely that if that were the case then he was happily going to forever remain gay. Of course the teen ignored the fact that his mom was a woman too, and as such would also be a ‘she-beast’, but such thoughts were counterintuitive so he locked them _far_ away.

It was too horrifying to contemplate anyway.

* * *

It took about a second to pull the story from Dan, and by then Tucker was dragging Dan unwillingly up the stairs and to Sharon’s room where Danny had positioned himself as far away from the young girl as he could get. It had taken _less_ than a second for Tucker to process how the room looked, the emotions displayed across Sharon and Danny’s faces, to figure out what had happened.

Almost immediately Tucker rounded to Danny and tugged his best friend’s face _up_ from the floor.

“What. Did. You. Say,” Tucker said slowly, his gaze searching. Sharon’s mouth almost fell open at the concern Tucker was showing for _the thing that was not a person, really, and probably not a bang baby._

“I told her I wasn’t gonna hurt her, Tuck…” Danny muttered. “I don’t hurt humans, you know that….”

Tucker sighed and replied, “Did you tell her _that?_ ”

“Yes…”

“And she responded with fear?”

“Yeah…”

“Of _course_ she would, you moron! You classed yourself as ‘not human’ with that sentence!”

Danny and Dan frowned, one in a corner and one in the doorway. The teen spoke up, almost hesitantly, “But…Uncle Tucker we’re not. Not exactly…right?”

Tucker sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Dan…do _not_ interrupt. I can’t deal with your questionable morals and upbringing right now,” Tucker said slowly. “And Danny…you’re forgetting. _Danny_ is human, a very _special_ human, remember? Jazz, Sam, and I have been over this with you and Danielle before….”

Danny sighed and muttered, “I know, Tuck. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that though when I can remember freezing the entire _planet,_ causing the first ice age….”

Tucker snorted and stated, “Yeah well…you never did like dinosaurs, Danny. Besides, that’s the special part of you: being able to remember and _connect_. It doesn’t make you subhuman. Nor does it make _you_ Dan,” Tucker added.

“Tell that to all the jerks at high school when they mention my eyes and ears and _maybe_ I’ll agree,” Dan muttered darkly.

“Sure. That’ll be…eighteen years, yeah?”Tucker smirked. Dan scowled. “Now…Sharon, cousin, we need to talk about what you saw.”

“Tucker…” Sharon sighed, “do we _have_ to? I mean I know he said you could explain the details but…he’s a _freak_.”

Tucker scowled and moved to sit down next to his cousin, pulling her into a one armed hug. “Sharon…Danny is _not_ a freak. He got into a lab accident some years ago and it ended up almost _killing_ him. The end result was the ability to connect with the base part of himself. _His soul_. Danny is able to utilize his soul’s natural abilities, abilities _every_ human can use once they’ve passed on. See?” Sharon nodded slowly.

Tucker continued, “Now each soul has a name, a _true_ name. Danny’s is Phantom. He can connect and _become_ his soul form, and as Phantom Danny protects our home and our planet. He’s a _hero_ , Sharon. Like Static and Gear…like _Virgil and Richie_ , do you understand me?”

“Yeah…” Sharon sighed. “I guess I overreacted? Sorry, Danny. I should’ve known better. I tend to do that….”

“No big,” Danny shrugged. “Sometimes I need a reminder that I’m _not_ inhuman. Just…don’t tell your brother and his friends, please? Tuck, Sam, Val and I want to share some things with them later…maybe.”

Tucker smirked, “Hey man, it’s _your_ decision. You _are_ the leader of the Triumvirate after all.”

“Ha, _ha_ , Tuck. Come on Dan, let’s go see what’s on the TV,” Danny tugged Dan out of the room and down the stairs.

Sharon stared after them and then turned to Tucker, “Dan is…really Danny’s son, isn’t he.”

Tucker chuckled, “As I put it to Dan earlier…Dan is the future butt baby of Danny and a man in his fifties. Granted technically Vlad’s already pregnant…a sad part of Danny’s condition…a biological part. And before you ask, _yes_ Vlad shares the same condition. Only until recently he was more the ‘villain’ archetype. Well…technically he still _is…_ it’s why we claim Dan has ‘questionable morals’ after all _._ ”

* * *

It wasn’t much later that Virgil, Richie and Francis begged off for bed, bleary eyed and pretty much ready to crash. All three stumbled up the stairs under the steady, calculative and watchful gaze of Tucker.

Sharon sat on the couch, eyeing her cousin curiously between watching the news. Dan was curled up into Danny’s side, snoring. Danny was on the phone talking to Vlad , Valerie nestled in Sam’s lap, lightly dozing. Sam was staring at Tucker with a raised eyebrow.

“You gonna drop it now, Tucker?” she uttered calmly and Tucker turned his gaze to her.

He said, “Fourteen and a hero…brings back memories, doesn’t it?” instead, deftly avoiding Sam’s question. The goth women scowled.

“You honestly think you won’t be accepted,” she muttered, almost disgustedly. “What does it matter? You should feel comfortable with yourself.”

Danny snapped his phone shut, leaned back, and closed his eyes. He interrupted Sam before she started on her rant, stating, “Tucker’s choice is his own. Besides…he keeps it up little Virgil will find out sooner or later anyway. There won’t be a chance to hide soon….”

“What are you guys talking about?” Sharon asked, turning fully away from the television.

Danny sighed and opened his eyes. What were once blue were now a glowing green as he stated, “You’ll find out soon enough, everyone will.” He closed his eyes again.

The living room fell into awkward silence. Tucker staring at Danny with a frown, almost concerned. Sam glanced between both Tucker and Danny, a slightly worried twitch beginning to form at the corner of her lips. Valerie cracked one eye open and surveyed the room, sighing softly. Sharon looked as if she wanted to say something, anything, but was unsure of how to word it.

Danny stood up, tugging Dan into his arms. The teen had himself wrapped around Danny’s neck, almost like a small child. His face was buried into his father’s hair. Danny wrapped one arm around Dan’s middle, the other underneath the boy’s knees. He didn’t struggle or buckle under the weight. In fact he showed no strain of holding a near fully grown man, almost his own height.

Instead Danny just uttered, “I’m taking this princess to bed. Goodnight Tucker, Sam, Valerie, Sharon. See you in the morning.”

Danny walked off, leaving behind the tense and awkward atmosphere.


	13. A Treasure of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William Wolcott felt horrible that he couldn't stop Helena's descent into madness, and greateful that Myka was able to.

He walked through the halls like a ghost, which was all well and good for him as in some regards he could be a ghost, dead and gone and buried. Except that he wasn't, technically, but he preferred not to dwell upon technicalities. Not here, not in _their_ sacred place, not ever really.

He let out a sigh and trailed his fingers along dusty, old shelves. This was his heaven, his haven, and everything that he found right in the world. Old, seemingly innocent and innocuous creations of the past sitting, sleeping even, on shelves covered in a light layer of dust. They'd get cranky if it were any thicker, after all.

His lips twitched as he stepped past shelves and rows until he reached his destination, abandoned just as he knew it would be. It was late, after all. Even the most studious and hardworking had drifted off into the land of sleep. That was fine by him; he wanted this to be alone and private after all. There was no need to drag them into things when he'd have it all well in hand.

He stepped past monitors that beeped lightly—a ping they called it these days—but other than that and the faint hum of electricity no sound could be heard aside from the soft tap of his shoes. He came to a rest just a little ways off the edge of the desk and looked down, past the clutter and paper and notes and whatever else was built up in piles from half-finished projects. There, nestled away and in the corner was a simple, round ball. A special ball.

Carefully, gently, he wrapped a hand about the ball and lifted it up. His ghost of a smile turned sad as he twisted lightly at the top and the ball glowed brightly. Before him she appeared, shimmering into existence and just a bit confused.

“What?” she said, turning about. “Has something else happened involving my past--” the rest of her sentence caught in her throat as she saw him, there, holding the ball with her consciousness inside.

He said, “Hello, Helena.”

She replied, “Wooly?”

It certainly had been a while since he'd heard that nickname. Wooly—William Wolcott, Agent of Warehouse 12. Well, former agent. It had been a hundred or so years since then.

“After a fashion,” he nodded. “It is...good to see you again, H.G.”

“William Wolcott,” Helena said. “How in heavens name are you still alive? Were you Bronzed?”

“No.” He shook his head. “No I wasn't. I did visit, though. Every ten years or so, after...after you requested to be Bronzed.” There was a beat, a pause between them. Then he bowed his head. “I am sorry...that I was not there for you when you were awakened. I should have known—I should have been aware...of the pain you were in.”

“You couldn't have known,” Helena said. She bit her lip. “I made sure nobody would know. I...made a lot of mistakes, and I am paying for them now.”

“I know,” he replied. “I would have been here if I could, to help you adjust—to help you deal with the pain. I unfortunately was not available.”

Helena frowned. “Unavailable how? For that matter how are you _here_? It's been a hundred years, Wolcott. You should be dead and buried.”

He smiled. “It's Jones, now. Or was. I suppose that life is behind me. I should think you'd like the hear the story; you always did like a good tale when there was time.”

“I have all the time in the world now.” She rolled her eyes lightly, a self-depreciating smile on her lips. “Not much else to do, is there, trapped in my inescapable prison.”

He nodded once, and smiled again. “I should think not,” he said.

* * *

 

In the morning Artie wandered blearily into the main office. At first he noticed the ping, and raced immediately toward the computer. Then he noticed the orb with H.G.'s consciousness had been moved. Artie ignored the ping for a moment to carefully inspect his desk, but there was nothing off about it except the placement of the orb. He was carefully inspecting the orb itself when Myka came racing in.

“Artie someone got into my room last night!” Myka said quickly, a note clutched in her hands. “They left this note.”

Artie turned away from the orb and stared down at the note in Myka's hands. “Did you read it?” he asked, and then snatched it from her grip.

“Well yes but it doesn't make any sense!” Myka replied.

Artie quickly unfolded the note. “Doesn't make sense how?” he asked, and then started to read the note itself. “Oh. _Oh_.”

_Myka,_

_I thank you for all that you have done to get Helena through her grief. She needed someone like you to show her the truth, and I am pleased that you have not let her actions dictate your life forever. You have done what I could not, and for that I am in your debt._

_Sincerely,_

_Willaim Wolcott_

“William Wolcott was a member of Warehouse 12...” Artie said slowly. “That was over a hundred years ago. He should be dead.”

 “But he obviously isn't,” said Myka. “He left me this note!”

 “Wooly isn't dead.” Both turned to see Helena step through a wall with a fond smile. “He and I had a long chat last night. I suppose he is very grateful to you Myka, otherwise he wouldn't risk revealing himself like that.”

 “How can he still be alive?” Artie demanded and grabbed the orb that held her consciousness again. Helena shrugged.

 “I have no idea,” she replied. “It happened after I was Bronzed, I suppose. Or even before I knew him. Wooly didn't tell me how he was still here. Only that he was.”


End file.
